


Force The Issue

by fictionalthirst, TurnipKeep



Series: You Bring It Out In Me [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Awkward First Times, Begging, Blow Jobs, Brat, Bullying, Child Neglect, Closeted Character, Coming Untouched, Consensual bullying, Dirty Talk, Dunking, Gay Panic, Hand Jobs, Homophobia, Humiliation, I Want You To Hit Me As Hard As You Can (It Turns Me On), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Marathon Sex, Masochism, Masturbation, Mundane Eos, Paranoia, Restraint, Sadism, Sent Away To Military School, Size Difference, Size Kink, Spanking, Unprotected Sex, Violence, anger issues, body issues, degredation, destruction of personal property, forced urination, gagging, you can't catch me gay thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27291094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalthirst/pseuds/fictionalthirst, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurnipKeep/pseuds/TurnipKeep
Summary: Prompto has had his share of bullies. His adoptive parents, his classmates. Turns out that the biggest bully of all was yet to come, but there's something different about this one. The experience teaches him surprising new things about himself. Gladio, the school’s sports star, is having an awakening as well, but it is far less well-received. Thankfully, he has a willing victim to turn to.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum
Series: You Bring It Out In Me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992646
Comments: 57
Kudos: 56





	1. Prompto: Slammed Against the Gym Lockers

**Author's Note:**

> Usually I save tagging for future chapters so as not to ruin the surprise of what is to come, but on this fic, I am going to be super up-front about what to expect, because it is chock full of stuff that could really, truly bother a person if they were to be surprised with it.
> 
> This fic came about because I said to TurnipKeep:
> 
> _ugh, the versus xiii gladio looks like he would dump your books out of your arms and throw you in a locker  
>  I don't like him  
> he looks insecure with his masculinity_
> 
> And that spiralled off into a thousand ideas that had to be put into motion.
> 
> So yeah, in this fic, Gladio is suffering from some internalized homophobia and fear of his sadistic side. Prompto is the recipient of his attention and just happens to have some massive masochistic tendencies. This is the first fic in a series, and there will be a mature resolution. But for now, things are pretty rough, because the boys are dumb and inexperienced. Though if rough is the way you like it, hopefully you’ll enjoy this fic.
> 
> Me to me while writing this: I hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me (it did)

Prompto has known his share of bullies in his lifetime. The first are, of course, his adoptive parents. Never physically violent, but emotionally cruel. They’ve never let him forget that he isn’t _theirs_ , but a cast off that they happened to take pity on. And they run out of that pity at somewhere around ten years.

It is around that time that Prompto begins to gain weight, mostly from the simultaneous neglect and hyper-attentive criticism of his parents. When they are gone away for work, he fills the void of them with whatever food gives him comfort. That is when some of his classmates take notice of him and begin to tease. Again, nothing violent, and the digs of ten-year-olds are hurtful, but nothing compared to the ones thrown at him by the people who are supposed to _love_ him.

In middle school, it becomes fairly obvious that Prompto is exclusively attracted to men, when a particularly handsome teacher takes over his homeroom class and he can barely string two sentences together without blushing and stuttering in front of the whole classroom.That is just another thing for the kids to cling to. It draws the attention of a few of the crueler boys, who make sure that they loudly announce that Prompto would never have a chance with Mr. Leonis. It leads to declarations that Prompto doesn’t stand a chance with them, either, which is hilarious, considering _they’d_ never even turn up on Prompto’s radar.

So when Prompto has successfully navigated himself into high school, and has somehow miraculously entered with a svelte figure, a fashionable haircut, and has ditched his glasses for contacts, he expects to sail through relatively smoothly. And once his parents move to Altissia to accept promotions, it’s true for three years. He lives a pretty decent life without the constant verbal abuse. His grades improve, his confidence soars, he is involved with more club activities; he even decides to put himself out there enough to join the track team.

That, as it turns out, is a choice with some consequences, and not all _bad_. At least, not in his opinion.

Gladiolus Amicitia is one year above him, two months from graduating out and moving on with his life, to University or wherever the hell people like him - handsome, built, charming and talented in all sports - go when they’re done with the mandatory hell of compulsory education. He’s on three teams; wrestling, swimming and, of course, track.

This is where the trouble begins.

Prompto always hangs back a little in the locker room after practice, waiting to get undressed, still just a bit insecure about his body and the lines that mark him as having carried extra weight for a few years. It’s only after all the guys are well on their way home that Prompto feels comfortable enough to begin changing.

Prompto’s not exactly sure what it is about this routine that causes the attention he gets from Gladiolus, but it comes one day without warning, as he’s slammed against the lockers in the school gym’s changing room after practice.

His face hits the cold metal, his hands not quite quick enough to brace himself. He blinks, a little dazed, and almost can’t parse what has happened until he is roughly turned around and slammed into the locker again, this time his back colliding sharply with the catch, sending a spike of pain radiating up his spine.

Gladiolus doesn’t say anything, just stares down at Prompto with his thick eyebrows drawn angrily over his enraged brown eyes. His broad hands hold Prompto against the locker, fisted in his loose jersey, and he is totally pinned. No way out of this dude’s grip. The size difference between them is vast.

A strange sensation flips in his stomach, and pleasantly tingles much lower.

 _Huh,_ Prompto thinks, just before one hand releases him and slams into the surface beside his head, a metallic clang ringing out in the echoing chamber around them.

Gladiolus looks like he wants to say something, but he bites it back and roughly shoves Prompto, as if he wants to throw him - _probably could_ \- to the floor before storming out, his muscular shoulders barely contained in his tank top and his toned backside clinging to his loose-fitting cropped sweatpants in intriguing ways.

Prompto’s track pants are clinging, too, and not against his backside. He looks down at the tent in his trousers with confusion, and wonders at the reaction he’s having to the lingering sting in his cheek and back, and the rough, feral expression on the older guy’s face.

He’s certainly heard that some people have such tendencies, but never once considered he might be one of them. It’s a strange sort of luck that he’s never had any experience with violence directed at him. Just cruel words. And suddenly, Prompto thinks that maybe, if they’re coming from Gladiolus, he might not mind those much, either.


	2. Gladio: I Have The Weirdest Boner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio doesn't appreciate having eyes on him, especially when they come from the runty blond on his track team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said one chapter per day but I feel like we need to see Gladio's side for a bit before really diving in to the cliffhangers. <3

Gladiolus Amicitia is more than ready to be finished with high school. He’s had enough of being forced into classes he hates and hallways filled with people that all want to befriend him but not really _know_ him. The kinds of kids who want the attention of having spoken to the sports star without the work of actually caring about him at all. It’s infuriating.

Worse, are those people that stare at him from afar, like he’s something for them to consume. Their obvious crushes dripping off them like slime… it sets his skin to crawl.

The scrawny blond on the track team is the worst offender. Ever since Gladio found out the kid was gay, he’s noticed the periwinkle eyes glued to him everywhere. Passing each other in the halls, longing looks in the lunchroom, boring into him at practice, and leering in the locker rooms as the shrimp stands there, watching and waiting until everyone else has filed out.

It grosses Gladio out. He’s not there to be stared at by some fa-

Gladio blinks at the word his brain summoned. He doesn’t _think_ he’s a homophobe, not really. Sure, it makes him uncomfortable when he thinks about two men being _intimate_ with one another. Like a low, squirming dread. His palms sweaty, and his cheeks flushed. Gladio doesn’t like being embarrassed or feeling like he’s going to wriggle out of his skin. He’s used to lazy confidence, and when he flounders, his anger begins to bubble.

That’s why at the end of practice, he tosses the Argentum kid around. And for some reason, he can’t summon the words, “Stop staring at me.”

The shocked look in the shrimp’s eyes, the red bruise rising on his cheek, and the rapid breath rising and falling in his chest, it sparks something in Gladio that he can’t name. He only knows that it is primal and a bit frightening. As well as addictive.

He wants to do more to inspire that wild look, and so he punches the front of the locker next to his blond head, but the kid doesn’t utter a sound, just keeps staring back at him. Gladio’s fist in his shirt tries to toss the boy aside, like an undesirable piece of trash, and he forces himself away, grabbing up his duffel bag and making his way out of the locker room and the gym proper.

The throbbing in his loins is strange. He tries to chalk it up to adrenaline, but that’s never been an issue he’s had before, and he’s on the wrestling team. If adrenaline were the cause, he’d have boners every other day at his various team practices.

Gladio keeps picturing purple eyes, flushed, freckled cheeks and the thin, pale body trembling against the yellow lockers and it's making him harder. Hard in a way he can’t seem to get, ever, even with Aranea Highwind, arguably the hottest girl in school.

The following day, Gladio watches as Argentum seems to have completely shaken off their encounter from the day before. As if it never happened - as if it didn’t completely change the way he sees the world, like it had with Gladio. It’s enraging, that this lanky loser can parade around the halls, out and proud like it’s some kind of accomplishment. Not a care in the world.

They’re back in the locker room again, after Argentum had once more outpaced Gladio at practice two days later. The wimp is pretending to organize his locker while furtively glancing at everyone around him. Gladio wishes he could bore a hole through the kid’s skull with his eyes, and end all the confusion and frustration Gladio’s had to deal with for days.

Gladio begins undressing, down to just his running shorts, when the last of their teammates wave goodbye and head through the doors into the gym, on their way home for the night. He thinks that maybe the blonde doesn’t realize Gladio is still there, because he pulls his loose fitting shirt up and over his head, his blindingly white skin smooth and glowing in the fluorescent lighting. A huge, red welt, just off the right side of his spine, stands out starkly against the freckle-dotted paleness of his skin.

Gladio realizes that it must have been from the handle of the locker jamming into his back when he turned the wuss around and slammed him against the surface after their last practice.

It thrills him a little, to see the remains of his work on Argentum’s otherwise unmarred skin. Makes him think that maybe the blond hasn’t been able to forget their altercation after all.

Makes him want to make more marks.

Before he realizes it, he’s behind the smaller guy, looming like an oncoming storm. He sees the sudden tension in the blond’s shoulders, his presence known. But Argentum doesn’t turn around, doesn’t react as though he wants to protect himself from Gladio’s wrath.

Gladio’s hand reaches out of its own accord and presses thick fingers into the welt, and a sharp, surprised cry leaps from the blond’s throat. Still, the kid doesn’t move, doesn’t try to run. Like a deer caught in the gaze of a predator; standing still, lest any movement cause its demise.

Gladio slowly pushes the runt forward, pressing his shoulders against the sides of his open locker, as the blond head is forced inside it. There’s a struggling gasp, and his hands finally move to brace himself against the metal, Gladio pressing harder against his spine between his shoulder blades.

A tiny whimper of pain, and Gladio’s blood rushes south.

His hand slides up to grip the thin neck, fingers digging into the sides of the column, the sweaty blond hair pushed up around his palm. Gladio wants to bury a fist in that hair and force it to the ground, to know that the soft, flushed face is crushed against the concrete. Instead he just holds the guy there, inside his own locker, trembling and trying to brace himself against the pain in his shoulders as they dig into the edge of the enclosure.

Gladio needs to release him, needs to leave before the shrimp can catch a glimpse of the monster erection straining his running shorts. But at the same time, the urge to press it into the other guy’s ass is overwhelming.

He’s breathing heavily through his nose and only just realizes it. His chest is heaving.

What the fuck is this scrawny shrimp doing to him?

Gladio pulls Argentum back just slightly, just enough to give the wuss hope that the torment is over, before forcing him against the cold metal one last time, a loud slam of flesh against the hollow cabinet echoing through the room.

“Don’t you fucking dare look at me when I shower,” Gladio warns, low and hoarse, and Argentum shivers, his head still inside the locker, seemingly to obey the order. Satisfied, and a little thrilled at the submission, Gladio gathers his composure as best as he can and strides away to the shower room at the end of the row of lockers.

His arousal is so insistent he’s forced to take himself in hand under the spray, but when he tries to turn his thoughts to Aranea and her massive tits, he deflates, and the urgency is gone. By the time he is finished in the steamy room, Argentum has vanished.

If all it takes is a little shoving and a barked command to get the guy out of his way, Gladio thinks the entire frustrating ordeal will be over in short order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladio’s participating in four sports, actually: track, swimming, wrestling and mental gymnastics.


	3. Prompto: An Idle Wish Fulfilled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto wonders how to push some boundaries.

Prompto now has to admit to himself that being pushed around by the larger, burlier, angrier boy on his track team, the most popular guy at their school by far, is his latest guilty pleasure.

Judging by the swell of the big guy’s cock as he made his way to the shower yesterday afternoon, it’s Gladiolus’s, too.

Prompto was told not to look at him _in the shower_ , and he didn’t. Even though he really, really wanted to. But the thought alone of the star athlete’s body wet and soapy was enough to bring him to climax in the toilet stall as soon as it was safe for Prompto to move from his spot at his locker. He didn’t even change into his street clothes before running home after.

The bell rings, signalling the end of study hall, and Prompto has to admit he’s done no such thing for the forty minute period. Well, maybe not studying any of his classwork, but planning ways to keep Gladiolus’s attention. He stands, gathering his books in his backpack and then swings the bag onto his shoulders, hissing with pain as the straps dig into the bruises from the day before. A shiver flickers up his spine and through his stomach.

It’s lunch, now, and he’ll be in the same room with Gladiolus again. Wonders how far he can push things before they get really violent. Whether he’d mind if it did.

Gladiolus is already in the lunch room when Prompto arrives, sitting atop a table with two enormous feet planted on the stools, chuckling and elbowing his friends as they goof off. Prompto’s a little envious of their easy chemistry, having none of it himself. He has acquaintances at best, nothing like true friendship. Maybe, he reflects, that is why he’s so starved for touch that he’s willing to let a guy twice his size jam him into his locker after every practice. If it was a full-sized locker, Prompto supposes he’d even let Gladiolus “urge” him inside it completely.

Trying to keep his arousal in check, he swings his bag off one shoulder to fish out his wallet for lunch money, and grimaces as another wave of pain washes through him. The stutter in his step seems to attract Gladiolus’s notice as he passes by, and the darkened look in the older guy’s eyes sends a little tremor through him.

“What’s the matter, shrimp?” A voice from Gladiolus’s left taunts. It’s Loqi, one of Gladiolus’s swim teammates, who isn’t much bigger than Prompto is, so the jab is a little ironic. “Your boyfriend get a little too rough last night?”

If Prompto could have recorded the emotion on Gladiolus’s face, he’d do it in an instant, to replay it in his mind every second of every day. The tanned skin flushed, his amber eyes wide with fear, and teeth tightly clenched as though he is holding back a bark of censure.

“Could’ve been rougher,” Prompto answers with a shrug, which hurts a little, but the further blush of horror on his bully’s face is a balm. Prompto is probably going to pay for that later. Thankfully.

“Gross,” Loqi hisses, but his face tells a story like he realizes he’d brought the disgust upon himself and allows Prompto to walk away, most likely fearing any further details.

After lunch, he has a few minutes before getting to Photography since his teacher is lenient with him. He makes his way to his locker to drop off a few textbooks and grab his camera. It’s his favorite time of day, since he doesn’t have to rush, and he’s able to lighten his load quite a bit, which does take a little pressure off his shoulders. Though he’s not sure whether he feels relieved or mourns the loss.

He’s stuffing the heavier books into the bottom of his locker, thinking that maybe he should take a few minutes to clean out some of the old papers that are clogging it up, when a hand comes out of nowhere and pulls him up by the collar of his shirt and stuffs _him_ into the locker, slamming it shut on his left arm before it can be fully pulled in behind him. He squawks with pain, and a firm hand grabs his wrist and forces it into the enclosure, sealing him inside completely.

Gladiolus’s sharp eyes peer into the vents, the only light in the darkness inside.

“Talk like that around me and my friends again, and you’re dead,” Gladiolus threatens, and Prompto almost groans at the rough edge to the older guy’s voice. His pseudo-wish had come true.

“You got it, Big Guy,” Prompto says, not in the least bit scared. Terrifically enchanted, if anyone were to ask. There’s a loud slam, and Prompto assumes it’s Gladiolus’s fist hitting the door.

“You’re pretty mouthy for someone who could be snapped in half,” He says, the edge of anger in his words tipping into full-blown rage. “Don’t let me catch you waiting around in the locker room tomorrow after practice, or I’ll beat your ass.”

Prompto is a little glad that he’s trapped in his locker for an indeterminate time, because the erection straining his pants is going to take some time to calm.

“You got it,” Prompto sighs, having no intention of following through with Gladiolus’s request. He desperately wants to see what an ass beating from the burly dude will entail.

After about twenty minutes, Prompto hears someone shuffling down the hallway and begins to bang on the door of his locker, calling out for someone to let him out. It turns out to be Cindy, a nice girl from his Photography class. He tells her his locker combination and she sets him free, handing him his backpack, which got dumped onto the floor in the scuffle.

“Who’s got it out fer ya?” She asks, her southern Lucian drawl charming and full of humor. In another life, Prompto might’ve been attracted to a nice girl like her.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Prompto laughs, trying to brush his sweaty hair out of his eyes as he gathers his stuff. “Just a little misunderstanding, you know how it goes.”

“Never experienced it m’self,” She chuckles, “But I heard tell of it. Mostly from the kids that don’t fight back.”

“Well, I’m a pacifist at heart,” Prompto shrugs, with a smile. “Is Mr. Dorden pissed that I didn’t show up?”

“Naw, he sent me out to look fer ya,” Cindy says, walking with him back to class. “Knew ya wouldn’t skip out on yer favorite class.”

“Cool,” Prompto nods. “Thanks again, for the save.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *consensensually shoves you in a locker* take that, nerd.


	4. Gladio: Grappling With Insecurities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio has a wrestling meet, and more support in the stands than he expected.

Gladio storms off to his next class, Lucian Language Arts, in a terrible mood. That little pissant looked so damn smug flapping his mouth to Loqi, and then had the balls to mock Gladio after being shoved into his locker? Where does he get off being that confident and smarmy? Gladio is going to have to teach that kid a lesson.

He knows the threat didn’t take hold, that dipshit will hang back in the locker room tomorrow after practice just to spite Gladio. To goad him into action. Well if he thinks Gladio is going to back down and not deliver on the promised beating, Argentum has another thing coming.

Thankfully, he has a wrestling match that afternoon. It’s a great way to release his pent up aggression. Though truthfully he might have too much to spare, today. When the time for his meet comes, he changes into the team wrestling uniform, an embarrassingly snug affair, and lines up in the gym with the rest of his team. The other competitors are lined up on the opposite side.

There are a few attendees on the benches, mostly family of the wrestlers, but a few friends of the team as well.

Up at the top of the bleachers, camera in hand, sits Argentum. Gladio’s entire face burns, and he tries to subtly cover up his crotch with his folded hands. That little pervert knew he’d be in the match required singlet and brought his fucking camera to get some spank bank material.

Gladio is _enraged_ , worse when he catches a glimpse of Aranea climbing the bleachers to sit down next to the little creep, chatting and smiling away. What the hell could those two be talking about?

When Aranea laughs, he grimaces, imagining the things that Argentum is telling her. About how her boyfriend is hot and hung. Aranea would laugh at something like that. She isn’t the jealous type - more the artful boasting type. She and Gladio both know that he is something of a fashion accessory to her, and neither of them mind much. She gets to have her buff arm candy and he gets to see her tits every once in a while. He tries to tell himself that the arrangement is doing anything for him, but it is beginning to get harder to lie.

Aranea seems to be looking at the photos on Argentum’s camera and Gladio imagines they are all zoomed in on his crotch in this ridiculously revealing singlet.

He almost doesn’t hear the call to break into their assigned matches. The entire meet is an absolute disaster. Gladio’s concentration falters and he is nearly pinned twice. He almost disqualifies out after the third round in his match up, but he manages to throw his frustration into the bout and makes it out victorious.

Aranea and Argentum both stand and applaud from the top bleacher after his match, and Gladio seethes. He has one more match to win before proceeding on to next week’s meet, and he is not confident that he is going to make it through without tearing off his new opponent’s head from rage.

Luckily, in this match, Gladio is facing away from the bleachers and is able to somewhat concentrate on his strategy. The calm of the match washes over him and he no longer feels the anger that had been near to boiling over. He’s successful at bringing his opponent down to the mat in all three rounds, and feels like his groove is back somewhat.

He dreads turning around and facing the objects of his anxiety.

When he is forced to retreat to the bleachers near the locker room to retrieve his towel and wipe off, Argentum is nowhere to be found, but Aranea waves at him from her perch. He waves back, hesitantly, his heart beating with unimaginable panic now that the shrimp has scampered away.

When the meet is over, and he’s had a shower and changed, Aranea’s still waiting for him. For someone who suggested they date for the aesthetic, she can be fairly kind. She doesn’t come to all of his meets, but it’s nice that she shows interest, albeit when she’s bored.

“Hey, there, Hot Stuff,” She drawls, her low, raspy voice like a caress. “What happened with that first match?”

“I dunno,” Gladio answers, putting an arm around her. “I got in my head, I guess. What were you talking to that little pansy about?”

“Who, Prompto?” Aranea shrugs. “He was taking pictures, so I asked to see some. He’s pretty good. Even made you look good while you were grappling with that dude from Lestallum.”

“He was taking pictures of me?” Gladio asks, trying not to let the rage and terror seep into his voice.

“The whole team, not just you, you vain idiot,” Aranea rolls her eyes. “He was on assignment from Mr. Dorden. Yearbook stuff.”

“Oh,” Gladio blinks.

“What, you wanted him to be stalking you?” Aranea jokes, but Gladio’s temper flares. “I know he’s a cute little twink, but are you sure you wanna join _another_ team? You’re on so many already.”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Gladio rips himself away from her, adjusting his bag over his shoulder. “Fucking sick.”

“Disgusting? That’s what you think?” Aranea raises an eyebrow, then looks him up and down, assessing him. “Guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you I’m bisexual. That gross you out?”

Gladio burns with embarrassment and shame. “No.” he answers.

“Then it’s only okay if two girls want to do it?” Aranea crosses her arms, ready to beat the hell out of his faulty logic.

“That’s not what-”

“Get a grip, and grow up,” Aranea walks toward the doors of the gym, and her body language says that he’d better not follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladio needs to spend more time wrestling with his internalized homophobia, then maybe he’ll be better prepared for these meets.


	5. Prompto: Well That Escalated Quickly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto takes on a little responsibility, and Gladio punishes him.

Prompto rocks onto the balls of his feet and back onto his heels over and over while he’s trying to listen to Coach Drautos give the team a pep talk sprinkled with a bit of discipline. He could not relate any of the points brought up if there was a gun to his head. His mind is spinning with thoughts of the locker room after practice, and what Gladiolus will do to him.

Showing up at the wrestling meet, while not his idea, has definitely had some kind of impact on Gladiolus’s mood. Considering that yesterday afternoon’s altercation at his locker had resulted in only vague threats, now Gladio looks at him with downright murderous eyes. It probably has a lot to do with Prompto chatting with Aranea, though he can’t imagine that has sparked any sort of jealous motivation. Prompto has been out for two years now, and knows that Gladio is aware of it.

He _had_ been surprised to see her ascending the bleachers to sit right next to him. He couldn’t have imagined a better motivation for Gladiolus’s rage than seeing his girlfriend sidle up to the kid whose ass he wanted to beat.

It is a surprise to Prompto that she is so friendly and… not ‘nice’, but… pleasant.

_“You here for fun or for stalking?” Aranea asks, and it startles a laugh out of Prompto, making her smile. “Haven’t seen you here before. Got a crush on one of the wrestlers?”_

_Prompto hopes he doesn’t blush enough to give away that he does, in fact, have a crush on her boyfriend. “Nah, I’m here for yearbook pics. Mr. Dorden needed someone to take ‘em, and I was free.”_

_“Nice of you to volunteer,” Aranea leans back against the wall, crossing her legs casually. “Honestly, these things are super boring. Hopefully you get some shots that aren’t a complete waste of time.”_

_“A bunch of guys in tight onesies rolling around and grappling each other is **boring**?” Prompto chuckles. “Sign me up for whatever **you’re** doing after school every day.”_

_She laughs, loud enough to draw some glances from the other attendees, and Prompto feels proud of himself._

_“Alright, lets see these shots,” She demands, pulling on his camera. He usually doesn’t like to show off his undoctored photos, but he can’t seem to object. He likes her. Feels a little bad that he’s lusting after her man. “Damn. This one of Gladio is hot. You’ve got a great eye. Should I be jealous?”_

_Prompto’s eyes widen, his flush definitely obvious across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. “N-no, I-”_

_“Relax, kid,” Aranea laughs. “Everyone has the hots for him. I’m not bothered. Gimme your phone, I want you to text me that pic later.”_

_Prompto has trouble denying her request. Apparently Gladiolus isn’t the only one who can boss him around. “Just don’t tell Gladiolus where you got it,” He pleads, and she snorts a laugh._

_“Gladio’d choke you out if he heard you calling him by his full name,” She tells him, not looking up from where she’s putting in her contact information. “He also might not totally like it if he knows you have my number. So let’s just keep that one between us, okay? I won’t even tell him I have the photo to begin with.”_

_“Sure,” Prompto nods, silently thanking her for two pieces of possible future ammunition, though he thinks maybe the secret of the phone number might be one he actually keeps, since she’s pretty cool and doesn’t necessarily want to cross **her**._

Prompto is startled out of the memory replay by the coach urging them toward the track for laps - their usual warm-up. Prompto wants to take things slowly today, but also feels like giving a little chase might be a fun precursor to the eventual capture he will enjoy in the changing room in just under an hour. Gladio’s presence is like a bonfire behind him in the lane, and he feels propelled by the force of it.

After a lap of slow and steady pace, Prompto ramps up his speed just a bit. He doesn’t want to outpace the rest of the team today, just one person in particular, who seems content to remain behind him, an ominous shadow at his heels.

“Amicitia, light a fire under it!” Coach Drautos shouts from the center of the circle, and Prompto almost snickers. Gladio _has_ lit a fire under it, and the ‘it’ is _Prompto_.

With the embarrassing call-out from their coach, Gladio picks up his pace, changing lanes to get right next to Prompto, the older guy’s enormous animosity bearing down on him like a bull charging. He keeps pace with Prompto for the duration of their laps, and for the rest of practice he is like a looming threat, just behind him, silently seething.

As the team files into the locker room, Coach Drautos calls Prompto over, and he can tell that Gladio is frustrated with the delay, leaving him little reason to still be hanging around after.

“Argentum,” The coach begins, holding up a small key ring with two keys on it. “I’m gonna entrust you to lock up after you leave at night. I’ve got personal responsibilities to attend to in regards to my daughter, and I notice you’re usually the last to leave. I trust I can leave this in your hands?”

“Absolutely, sir,” Prompto nods, smiling. “I’ll make sure everything’s locked up tight.”

“Good man,” Coach Drautos pats him on the shoulder and he flinches, still a bit sore from two days previous.

Prompto’s heart skips as he makes his way in to wait out the team, clutching the keys to his heart. They’re an opportunity for privacy that sends tremors of anticipation up his spine. Once the team has gone home, there will be no chance they’ll be discovered.

Prompto makes his way to his locker and attaches the new ring to his own keys, pointedly ignoring Gladio even as he passes behind him on his way to his belongings. The showers shut off and the conversations fade as the last of their teammates make their way home for the evening.

Prompto braces himself, even as he feigns interest in his phone, checking his email, despite no new message notifications.

“You sure don’t like to listen, do you?” Gladio growls just behind him, and suddenly his neck is covered in the grip of one broad hand. “I thought I told you not to stick around after practice?”

“Coach needs me to lock up,” Prompto says, gasping a little as fingers dig harder into his neck.

“Just like Dorden needed you to come and take your little pictures at my meet yesterday?” Gladio’s hot breath fans over his ear as the larger guy leans in, the low register of his voice pooling in Prompto’s gut. It’s intended to be intimidating, and it is, for the most part. But another, larger part, is unbearably erotic, and Prompto can feel his anticipation growing.

“Guess the teachers know I’m trustworthy,” Prompto says, a bit snide. Goading.

Predictably, Gladio slams him forward into the lockers, his face catching the edge of one of the vents and splitting open, a surprised cry bursting from his lips. Still shocked from the sudden spike of injury, Prompto almost falls over the bench behind him as Gladio pulls him by the neck. He gets his feet under him just in time to trip but not completely fall, and Gladio grunts with irritation, tossing Prompto fully to the floor.

“Smart mouth, but that’s about it,” Gladio sneers. “Get up, you piece of shit.”

Prompto knows a little act of rebellion will inspire more punishment, so he stays on his knees and tries to catch his breath as he takes in the throbbing ache in his cheek, the slow accumulation of blood seeping from the shallow wound.

Gladio grabs his hair, yanking, and the pain arcs like lightning through him, straight to his twitching arousal. Prompto is forced back to his feet, and Gladio moves in front of him, hand still firmly fisted in his blond hair, Gladio’s thick forearm against his neck, pressing down on his collarbone.

“I should put your face through the wall for that little stunt you pulled with my girlfriend,” Gladio says through clenched teeth. “For some reason, she found you charming. Didn’t like it when I badmouthed you. Now she’s not speaking to me.”

“I didn’t-” Prompto tries, but his hair is tugged harder.

“Doesn’t matter what you did or didn’t do,” Gladio insists, his face an inch away. If this were Prompto’s fantasy and not reality, Gladio would push his scathing mouth against his own and then force him to his knees.

Instead, Gladio breathes, “You’re gonna pay.”

_Fuck, yes,_ Prompto almost begs out loud. Gladio steps over the bench, one hand still possessively gripping Prompto’s hair while the other digs through his backpack. Prompto can’t imagine what he’s looking for, confused by the detour away from his punishment.

When Gladio brings out his heavy Lucian History textbook, Prompto wonders if he’s going to hit him with it. Instead, Gladio smirks, a flash of white teeth in a wolf’s grin, and pulls Prompto by the hair to the toilets.

Gladio tosses the book into the bowl, the splash going everywhere, and Prompto grimaces when the water soaks through his shoe before he’s roughly shoved into the stall.

“Piss on it,” Gladio orders, and Prompto blinks, wondering if his head slammed harder into the locker than he’d originally realized.

“What-?”

“I said, piss on your fucking History book,” Gladio growls, forcing Prompto’s head down to look into the toilet. “You don’t need any more book-learning. Gives you ideas that you can mouth off to your betters.”

Prompto’s stomach squirms, a wave of shame washing over him that this, too, is making him aroused. And now he’s going to have to get his semi-hard dick out of his shorts right in front of Gladio.

“Do I need to repeat myself?” Gladio seethes, grabbing Prompto’s right hand and twisting his arm behind him, up and just a little too far. “Get that little dick of yours out and get to it, or I’m gonna break this arm.”

Prompto keens, the over extension of the limb hurting his already injured shoulder, and does his best to push his left hand into his shorts, drawing himself out. It takes a moment for a stream to get going, a combination of stage fright and physical distress holding him back. Once the tank is empty, Gladio leans in close to his ear.

“If you even breathe near me ever again,” Gladio warns, “It’s gonna be your head in the toilet. And I won’t let up until you’re choking.”

_Promises, promises,_ Prompto thinks as he tries to cover how achingly hard his dick is. He nods in submission.

Gladio seems satisfied, and finally releases him, striding back to his own locker and shutting it severely with a loud rattle that reverberates through to the stalls, the heavy stomp of his boots fading.

Prompto stares down at his textbook and wonders how he’s going to deal with the mess. It certainly isn’t what he was expecting, both in the punishment, nor his reaction to it. He couldn’t have guessed that being forced to piss on his own belongings would cause such a stirring in his guts. The shame continues to keep his prick stiff as a nail.

Letting the embarrassment linger, Prompto pushes his way into the next stall and finishes himself off, dimly considering just leaving the book in the water. The idea that someone on the janitorial staff will have to deal with the disgusting scene convinces him to fish it out. He flushes a few times, trying to deluge the tome with clean water, and then rolls the large garbage can over to the stall to track the least amount of water possible as he tosses the book in.

He hopes that he won’t suffer too much scolding when he has to ask for a new one, after confessing that he’s “lost” his.

Prompto gathers up the stuff that had fallen from his locker as Gladio rifled through his bag and makes sure he has what he needs for his homework. If he needs his textbook, he can just look up the answers online, he supposes.

First he locks the door to the gym, and then leaves through the door to the field, shutting it tight and testing that it is closed to any intruders before jogging home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what anticipation gets you, Prompto: disappointment. And a brand new humiliation kink.


	6. Gladio: The Pot Of Gold At The End Of The Rainbow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio does some research, but ultimately resorts to a time honored tradition.

Gladio stares down at his phone, wondering why he’s not as furious as he should be as he reads the text from Aranea that concludes their relationship. He had sort of suspected she was going to drop him, after their spat the other day. It isn’t like her to hang on to what isn’t fun anymore, and it is honestly a little relieving. Her sexual needs had been a lot more demanding than Gladio’s, and sometimes it was like pushing a boulder uphill to really get into it.

Conversely, the rage of arousal that has been coursing through him for the past week when dealing with Argentum is… worrying. Gladio struggles with how hard it makes him to demean and torment the smaller guy, whether it is some kind of malfunction or moral failure. He can’t explain the impulses at all. Worse is that now his dreams have begun to provide him with even more sick and twisted ways to put the blond under his thumb, alongside new resolutions to the torment that end with him waking with a wet mess in his boxers for the first time since he was fifteen.

Having no reference for gay sex, other than what normal teens might joke about or hear from their older siblings, Gladio’s mind only has vague notions of how his advances might culminate with the scrawny nerd. What results are warped imaginings of things he’s done with Aranea.

For the first time since his sexual awakening, he navigates to the MLM section of PornHaven, searching ‘twink’: the only word he’s confident can accurately describe Argentum in the gay parlance. Luckily - or not, depending on how Gladio feels from moment to moment - he finds several hundreds of videos with small blond men and rather large brunette men in various acrobatic poses.

Part of him tries to tell himself that he’s grossed out by the thumbnails, but the lower, more primal part of him is already rising in interest.

Several hours later, he is forced to conclude that he is more than just interested. And it terrifies him.

Monday, at school, Gladio is late to arrive. He had laid awake until three in the morning, and then slept through his alarm.

Argentum is at his locker, trading some books for different ones, wearing a loose fitting black tee with a graphic of a rainbow band crossing from his right shoulder down to his left hip like a paint brush stroke. Always loud and frustratingly comfortable with his depravity.

“Don’t you have any shame?” Gladio grumbles, low, as he passes by.

“What, like you?” Argentum says, insinuating.

“What the hell did you say to me?” Gladio turns back and pushes himself into the punk’s personal space. From this side, he can see that his freckled cheek is bandaged from Gladio’s attention during their last altercation. Everyone in school would have seen it, the mark Gladio left. It burns hotly in his throat and loins to think about.

“I don’t see the point of hiding what’s obvious,” Argentum shrugs, as if they’re familiar and comfortable, rather than mortal enemies. Gladio’s lust twists and morphs inside his stomach, a simmering rage building. “Everyone knows I’m gay. Maybe some people who are afraid to come out might get inspired if they see _I’m_ not afraid.”

Gladio can’t help but see it as a dig to him, personally, considering the frightening realizations he’s only just made about himself. As if the blond has any access to the inner workings of his own mind to know such a thing.

“All it’s inspiring in _me_ is the need to beat it out of you,” Gladio threatens from behind teeth sharp with fear.

Argentum drops his backpack to the floor and shuts his locker, leaning against it calmly, one side of the neck of his tee drooping loosely down one shoulder as he crosses his arms.

“You can try,” The insufferable little shit says, a cool challenge in his eyes. It’s all Gladio needs.

He grabs the offensive shirt by the collar, twisting it in his fist and dragging Argentum to the Men’s Room across the hall. The blond doesn’t object, just allows himself to be pulled and bodily tossed into the room, against the small partition between the stalls.

Gladio glowers down into the purple-galaxy eyes underneath the spray of blond hair that is now in disarray, daring the nerd to continue his self-satisfied snark. The blond remains silent, his gaze almost pleading, and Gladio wonders why the fastest runner in school constantly allows himself to be caught and tormented.

When Argentum’s gaze becomes too difficult to match, Gladio wrenches him around and pulls the front of his shirt up and over his blond head, gathering all of the surplus material and twisting it into a knot, securing his upper arms uncomfortably behind his back with the tension of the material.

Once he’s certain that the smaller guy isn’t going to be wriggling free any time soon, Gladio pushes him into a stall for the second time in a week, but this time, he kicks the blond in the back of the knees and forces him down onto them on the tiled floor.

“You’ve got a choice here,” Gladio says. “Either swear you won’t wear this disgusting rag again, or I make good on pushing your stupid face into the toilet.”

“You’re that afraid of a tee shirt with a rainbow on it?” Argentum laughs, and it flares in Gladio’s chest.

He snaps, holding the punk by the coiled up shirt and his hair, and dunks him into the bowl, holding him for ten full seconds, waiting until there’s a struggle, and a rush of bubbles as Argentum is forced to release his breath. Gladio pulls him out, sopping wet and all of his asymmetrical blond hair plastered to his face as he coughs around the stream coming off of the strands.

“Good choice,” Gladio chuckles, darkly, a heat in his veins that he’s come to both loathe and anticipate with excitement. He hauls the blond back out into the main area of the restroom, throwing him to the floor, on his side, his arms still securely bound. Gladio steps over him, one foot planted on each side of the shrimp. “Let’s see how the rest of your day goes dressed like that.” He gives a little kick with the side of his left foot, catching a forearm with the tread of his boot, and strides out, heading to third period, now that he’s fully missed Literature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a reason Gladio is not a strategist and he’s not an artist; he’s got absolutely no creativity. Dunking? Come on.


	7. Prompto: No More Sitting Alone In The Lunchroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto makes a friend.

Luckily, Prompto doesn’t have to lay in the puddle of his own hair for very long, as the bell rings, releasing the students to take care of their basic functions without the need for a hall pass. A boy from ninth grade finds him and helps to untie him, all the while asking questions that Prompto is certainly not going to answer.

Once his hands are free, he dismisses the kid with a genuine thanks, and moves to the sink to squeeze out the excess water from his hair. Thankfully his shirt didn’t get soaked, and Prompto slings it over his head, avoiding touching it with any of his hair so he can rush to the gym and shower.

When Coach Drautos sees him, he furrows his brow in concern. “What’s going on, Argentum?”

“Just a little mishap,” Prompto insists. “Is it okay if I clean up, Coach? I’ll head to class right after.”

“Who did it?” The gruff older man says, not framing it as a question. Still, Prompto’s no snitch, especially when he’s purposely encouraged the behavior.

“It’s fine, sir,” Prompto smiles with a sigh. “I’m not going to be the kind of guy that can’t take care of his personal business.”

“While I admire your tenacity,” Coach Drautos says, a bit perturbed, “I hope you know when enough is enough. Make sure you come to me if it gets too out of hand, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Prompto nods, and makes his way into the changing area to gather his towel and shampoo.

The rest of the day is a mixed bag. His hair, needing to air dry, puffs up in the humidity of the early summer weather, and it’s remarked upon by several classmates. But he gives a correct answer when called on in math, for once, and it perks him up for the rest of the period.

For some reason, he feels like he attracts a lot of staring as he enters the lunchroom, and Gladio in particular is clearly incensed that he’s wearing the shirt, still, and seems no worse for wear.

_If you want to really hurt me, you gotta step it up,_ Prompto thinks, and allows a tiny smirk to tug at the corners of his lips.

As he’s standing in the line, waiting to get his food, a delicate hand taps him on the shoulder.

“Hey, kid,” Aranea drawls, her brows furrowing as she gazes at the bandage on his cheek. “Heard you were in a bit of a mess earlier today.”

“You did?” Prompto balks, screwing his face up in surprise and confusion.

“Yeah, Gladio’s little sis, Iris, heard from some kid in her class that he found you tied up in your own shirt on the floor of the bathroom near the library with your hair soaked through.” Aranea reaches an overly familiar hand up and pushes some of his poofy hair out of the way, as if she’s an older sister looking after her idiot kid brother.

Prompto flushes, and shrugs a bit, not hard enough to cause offense, but enough to get her to back off a little. “I think I can guess who gave you that,” She points to the bandage. “And probably who gave you the swirly.”

“It’s nothing,” Prompto says, reaching for a tray when they both move forward in the line. “I had it coming.”

“Did you now?” Aranea smirks. “What’d you do to him? Inquiring minds _really_ want to know.”

“I’ve got a big mouth,” Prompto says, as if that’s all the explanation she needs.

“And you used it to…?”

Prompto is now red to his hairline. “To be an absolute smartass and piss him off, of course!”

“Hm,” She raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Won’t kiss and tell, huh? Ah, well. It’s fine. Just don’t let it go too far.”

“Why is everyone saying that to me today?” Prompto whispers, mostly to himself.

“Probably because it looks like you’re the kind of idiot to push boundaries and then suffer in silence when it all goes wrong,” Aranea shrugs, grabbing a pair of tongs to dole out a pile of greens onto her tray. “But what do I know?”

_A lot more than you realize,_ Prompto thinks, remembering when he was around fifteen and trying to learn to skateboard, only to break his wrist and go for a week without having it looked at because he was afraid his parents would be pissed about the hospital bill. The swelling and the screaming agony forced him into the ER eventually, but he was lucky there was no lasting damage.

“Look,” She turns to him, deadly serious. “I like you. You got spunk. Don’t let Gladio get too carried away. He might be more of an idiot than you, and he’s also twice your size. Maybe three times.”

“I think you’re getting a little carried away, yourself,” Prompto chuckles, self-consciously. He grabs a PB&J and an apple. “He wants to kill me. There’s nothing more going on.”

“If you say so,” She shrugs.

They reach the pay station, and Prompto keys in his student ID. It beeps with the negative account balance noise and he flushes with shame.

“You need to speak with your people,” The older, stodgy woman blinks at him. It’s the diplomatic way of saying _Get your parents to give you money, you poor piece of shit,_ and though it’s meant to express no judgement, her tone and facial expression clearly indicates that there is plenty to be given.

“Here,” Aranea says, handing her a twenty. “Will that cover him?”

“We’re really not supposed to-”

“Don’t worry,” Aranea assures her. “It’s my money. My parents won’t be put out by helping out my friend, here.”

“Ara-” Prompto starts, but she holds up a censuring hand.

“I’ve got it,” She smiles pleasantly, but it also conveys a firm determination that brooks no argument. “Let Big Sis handle it, okay?”

Prompto laughs. “Alright, Nea, I’ll let you take care of things.”

“That’s a good boy,” She grins, and leads him to a table at the center of the lunchroom, far enough away from her usual spot with Gladio for it to be noticed by half the occupants. It's going to make for some good gossip later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey you you I kinda like your girlfriend, she’s pretty cool and she paid off my lunch debt.


	8. Gladio: [Several People Are Typing]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio enters the digital age and tries to cyber-bully Prompto. Key word: _tries_.

Gladio is hate-scrolling through Argentum’s social media and glowering at his photos when the messenger chat pings.

**Aranea:** take it easy on my new friend.  
 **Aranea:** or at least come up with a safeword so he doesn’t die.  
 **Gladio:** Stay out of my business. And gross.  
 **Aranea:** whatever. if something worse happens to him, i’ll make sure your body is never found.  
 **Gladio:** Yeah, yeah.  
 **Gladio:** He’s under your protection. I got it.  
 **Gladio:** Hope you like your new puppy. He’s fucking stupid.  
 **Gladio:** He’ll probably piss on your floor.  
 **Aranea:** a lot easier to train than you, i’m sure.

Gladio clicks out of the chat window with tightly clenched teeth. Navigates back to Argentum’s page and clicks on the “send message” button.

**Gladio:** Got a new friend to fight your battles, huh?

It’s a few minutes before the _dot dot dot_ indicates that he’s responding, and it’s just long enough for Gladio’s ire to really amp up.

**Prompto:** i guess so!  
 **Prompto:** nea’s pretty awesome  
 **Prompto:** i like her  
 **Prompto:** she’s so sassy!

Gladio stares down at his laptop as if the words are written in Ancient Galahdian. Does he think they’re… friends? What the hell is with this jovial attitude?

**Gladio:** Gotta get a girl to protect you? Pathetic.  
 **Prompto:** it’s not really pathetic at all actually  
 **Prompto:** i mean, if it was a fight between you and nea i think she’d win  
 **Prompto:** not that you’re not a formidable foe, Big Guy  
 **Prompto:** there’s just something… scary about her

Gaping, Gladio shakes his head. The runt’s scared of Aranea, but not the guy that’s thrown him around on three separate occasions? What the hell is fucked up in this little creep’s head?

**Gladio:** You’re fucking weird, you know that?  
 **Prompto:** ……….. sure?  
 **Prompto:** i mean, yeah, i am  
 **Prompto:** i don’t try to hide it  
 **Gladio:** So you’ve said before.  
 **Gladio:** Maybe you should. Don’t you want to be normal?  
 **Prompto:** thaaaaaaat sounds boring as fuck  
 **Prompto:** miss me with that shit  
 **Prompto:** don’t *you* want to have fun? loosen up a little?  
 **Prompto:** seems like a lot of work to fit in where you don’t belong  
 **Gladio:** Like you’d know.  
 **Prompto:** happy i don’t  
 **Prompto:** i gotta hit the sack  
 **Prompto:** i’m pretty tired  
 **Prompto:** see you tomorrow  
 **Gladio:** You act like you’re excited about it.  
 **Prompto:** seeing you is the best part of my day, Big Guy  
 **Prompto:** can’t wait til practice  
 **Prompto:** _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):_

Gladio doesn’t even know how to respond to that, other than to shut his laptop hard enough that he cringes when something sounds like it snaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompto’s relationship status: it’s complicated  
> Gladio’s relationship status: it’s really fucking complicated what am I doing AAAAAAAAAAAA


	9. Prompto: Practice Makes Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto and Gladio have yet another confrontation in the locker room. This one is a little different.

Practice is more strenuous than usual the following day, because the team has a meet that weekend. Coach has them running longer laps and working through more thorough stretches before a ten minute warm down. Prompto is in rough shape when the practice is over, having worked himself a bit harder than usual. He’s not supposed to concern himself with winning, just improving his time. This week he really wants to beat that smug shithead from Ravatogh High that always seems to steal his win out from under him in the final sprint.

His thighs are twitchy with the rhythm of his pulse, and his glutes are burning when he finally makes his way into the locker room after talking with Coach Drautos about his strategy for Saturday’s meet. Almost everyone is getting dressed after showering, with one obvious exception, who seems to be working on maintaining his cleats. Pretty good cover. Prompto might have to hand it to Gladio. The Big Guy might not be just a meathead after all.

Prompto plans to actually shower this time, after his scheduled abuse appointment. He can feel the sweat pooling in his groin and thighs, his shorts clinging uncomfortably with the moisture. His shirt’s nearly soaked through, too. He can only imagine what his hair looks like after running so hard for more than an hour. He’s definitely not looking his best for his and Gladio’s “date.”

The last of the guys calls out a goodbye, and there they are, alone again. Prompto throws a look over his shoulder and catches Gladio’s burning gaze, his hands still at work with cleaning his shoes, but giving them absolutely none of his attention.

Briefly, Prompto wonders if Gladio is cleaning them up to use on him, but it seems that will have to wait for another time, because the larger guy sets them aside and stands, moving slow like a pursuit predator. Prompto turns away, pretending they both didn’t just make eye contact, shuffling things around in his bag until he can feel the heat radiating off of Gladio against his back.

Two hands grip both of his shoulders, close to his neck. Prompto almost groans aloud. Everytime Gladio accosts him, it’s with his big hand on Prompto’s neck, grasping like it’s nothing under his palm, and it’s so possessive and primal, it shoots straight to his cock.

“You’re not going to tattle to Aranea on me, are you?” Gladio asks, and Prompto fully shivers with the husky tone of his words so close to his ear. Fingers dig into the corded column of his neck, and Prompto simply shakes his head in agreement. He’d never be _able_ to tell Nea why he let this happen to him so much, let alone gossip about it to her.

With that assurance, one of Gladio’s hands begins to trail a finger down the line of his spine, tracing a path down to the wetness pooled at the arch of his lower back, just above his tailbone. It’s all so gentle, that Prompto’s heart is hammering. Had his confession last night softened Gladio? Does Prompto even want that?

“You’re filthy,” Gladio breathes.

“Coach worked me hard today,” Prompto says, hoping to inspire a little possessiveness in his gruff teammate.

“You think you’re just the little track star, huh?” Gladio growls, fisting his hand in the sweat-stained shirt at the small of his back. “Trying to get Drautos to notice you? That the kinda guy you get hard for?”

"You really want me to tell you what kind of men get my dick up?" Prompto scoffs, earning a quick jerk by the hand around his neck, a sharp pain lancing through to his jaw with the rough move.

"Definitely not," Gladio says, his voice sounding less disgusted and more... is it just wishful thinking to have heard jealousy in the tone? Probably. "I want you to shut the hell up. Do I have to shove a rag in your mouth for it to happen?"

Prompto has to bite down on his tongue to stop the moan of ecstasy that almost leaves him. So the answer is a definite yes. But he's not just going to lay down and agree. That's not as much fun.

"Damn, Big Guy, you just wanna shove things in my mouth, huh?"

"You smartmouthed little _shit_ ," Gladio straight up roars, "Get this fucking thing off." The rough hands tug his sleeveless tee up and over his head in a quick and forceful pull, and before he can take much of a breath, he's being force fed his soaked shirt, and he's fairly certain Gladio purposely put the sweatiest part directly into his mouth.

Once the shirt is crammed in between his aching, over extended jaw, Gladio slams his head against the lockers again. With the aid of the gag, Prompto feels free to make as much sound as he likes, and so he cries out, just a little louder than necessary, hoping that it will spur Gladio on a bit.

"Put your arms behind your back," Gladio commands, and Prompto stubbornly holds his wrist in one hand until Gladio forces them apart and behind him.

Gladio is apparently prepared, today, as he pulls Prompto's wrists into alignment and begins tying them together, the restraint rather soft to the touch, the loops expertly tied.

"I go camping a lot, with my dad," Gladio says, and Prompto is having a hard time understanding the relevance of that, until he continues. "I know every knot in the book. You're not getting out of this."

Prompto struggles a little, just for fun, because he believes Gladio implicitly. It makes Gladio push him a little harder into the metal surface, and wrench his arms a little harder with each loop.

Finally, he seems to have finished, and Prompto is left breathing roughly through his nose as his body screams for release, both in the pull of his arms and in the steady throbbing of his rock hard cock. The tug of his silken gym shorts against his leaking tip is almost enough to throw him head first into an embarrassingly inopportune orgasm. He's not certain he will make it out of this situation without Gladio seeing how much he is aroused by the rough treatment.

"Widen your stance," Gladio orders, kicking the inside of Prompto's feet apart, knowing he won't obey. "You're not being as cooperative as usual. You grow some balls, Argentum?"

Prompto starts to say, _You can go ahead and check,_ but of course, he can't work his mouth into the shape of the words.

"See? You better thank me after this. Without the gag, you might have just said something you'd come to regret."

Prompto probably _will_ thank him, but not necessarily for the gag alone. And that will set Gladio's blood aflame again, and maybe he'll be in for more.

For a few moments, Gladio says nothing, and doesn't touch him. Prompto's anticipation begins to quiver in his gut, and his muscles begin to tense, waiting for a sharp blow or a caress, anything.

"Looks like you're healed up from last week," Gladio comments, knuckles firmly pressed to the faded bruise on his back from the first shove into the locker. Prompto's knees shake. He's not sure he'll be able to stand under the scrutiny, or the barely-there touches to his trembling flesh. It seems like no matter what Gladio wants to do to him is effective.

Prompto is doing his best to stay still, afraid that any movement will set him off, the front of his shorts wet now with his precome, and his hips eager to find friction wherever he can get it, even if it is the front of the lockers. As a result, he sticks his ass out a little further to resist thrusting forward.

"Don't fucking point that thing at me like a bitch in heat," Gladio says, and roughly swats him on the right cheek, hard enough to rattle his teeth, if he could make them meet. Instead, he groans loudly into the sweat and spit-soaked shirt as his orgasm washes over him, uncontrollably pulsing through him in waves of absolute ecstasy.

He presses his forehead to the cold metal locker and tries to control his breathing, wondering just how Gladio is going to handle Prompto coming untouched in his shorts from a smack that he delivered.

"Did you just-" Gladio says, but it doesn't come out horrified, like Prompto thought it would. It's curious, tentative. Prompto is a little afraid that if he says or does anything now, he could either send Gladio screaming for the hills and be stuck here, tied up with come soaking his shorts, or he will literally be killed. He's betting on the former over the latter, but he's not one-hundred-percent sure.

He thinks that now might be a great time to submit, to make himself small and cooperative, and so he hangs his head and trembles a little, not entirely acting.

Gladio’s hands wrap around his shoulders and turn him around, ungently, his back now touching the frigid surface of the lockers.

Prompto can feel Gladio’s eyes on him, and tentatively looks up to see what kind of expression the guy is wearing.

Gladio’s gorgeous brown eyes are fixed on the juncture of Prompto’s thighs, where his dick is still just slightly swollen after release. The sticky-soaked patch of his shorts on the left leg is growing cold, the air conditioning in the school cranked up in the unseasonable heat of early May. Prompto can’t fully place the emotion clinging to Gladio’s face, but the heavy rise and fall of his broad, muscular chest telegraphs his erratic breathing.

Something seems to spark in Gladio’s brain, and Prompto sees an almost imperceptible shake of his head before those dark, hungry eyes turn on Prompto’s face.

“You’re a mess,” Gladio says, and it’s a _mild_ accusation, considering. Though if Gladio means mentally rather than simply physically, he’s probably not far off, with how much Prompto has been inviting the larger dude’s abuse. “Fucking little pervert.”

Prompto keeps his head down, holds his knees together, futilely trying to cover up the wet stain and the unabated swell of his cock.

“You’re disgusting,” Gladio says, but there’s little weight behind his tone. Prompto can tell that this Gladio is not his usual angry, hateful self, but a desperately curious, anxious boy trying to parse the uncomfortable ache in his guts. Prompto was there about three years ago, and he’s not going back. But maybe he can help.

If not for the shirt wadded up and crammed into his mouth.

Gladio steps closer, little distance between them, now. Reaches behind Prompto and pulls. All at once, the bindings on his arms fall loose to the floor, and a gentle hand eases the gag from his lips.

Prompto blinks warily up at the taller guy, unsure of his mood, his motivations, or his plans for the next few breaths. A rough, calloused hand folds across Prompto’s face at his jaw, strong, purposeful, forcibly and painfully angling Prompto’s head up and to the right.

“We’re going to have to get you cleaned up,” Gladio says, the jut of his cock pressed firmly against Prompto’s lower belly, a thick thigh wedged against the come-soaked spot on Prompto’s shorts as it slips between his legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladio: well, this may as well happen  
> Prompto: [internal cheering]


	10. Gladio: Well, Maybe Perfection Is Unattainable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio acts on impulse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to spoil anything but... there's sex in this chapter.

The satisfying sting in Gladio’s palm after cracking it across Argentum’s ass is overshadowed by the groan and gasp muffled by the shirt shoved between the blond’s teeth. Dimly, Gladio is aware of what has just happened, the sag of Argentum’s shoulders and the release of tension in all of his muscles a dead giveaway. He’s aware that some people are sexually satisfied by being spanked, and that the conversation they had the night before might not have been just teasing or goading; that maybe, the creep really _does_ enjoy the violent attention Gladio has been giving him this past week.

“Did you just-” He says, not really sure he can finish that sentence, and not sure he needs to. He’ll know if he just _looks_ , and without the usual ten layers of denial, in the heat of the moment, he _wants_ to look. Grabbing the freckled, slumped shoulders of the small figure, Gladio turns him, letting him fall back to the lockers, and stares down at the slight bulge of his manhood and the darkened patch of wetness against his thigh.

Uncomfortably, Gladio’s cock rises, too.

Well, if he has to admit it, he finally fills completely. He’s been working up to fully hard since pushing the shirt into Prompto’s mouth.

 _Prompto_ , Gladio thinks, with a sneer at himself. It’s difficult to stay detached when you’ve given someone an orgasm, apparently.

Gladio’s eyes are glued to the waning bulge of his cock and that stain, a undeniable visual of Prompto’s deviant proclivities, and yet it’s fascinating and enticing and Gladio wants to know what it feels like to have someone get him off so hard and fast that he doesn’t even need to be touched. At the same time, he wants to be disgusted, that this shrimp, this _guy_ , is turned on by being touched by Gladio, by being harrassed by him.

“You’re a mess,” Gladio says, for lack of anything else to say. He can’t say how badly he wants to come, too, and how he wonders if Prompto can make that happen for him. He can’t say he’s sorry for wanting to hurt him so much, because it would make him look stupid and weak. He can’t beg the blond to show him how good it can feel even between two men. He feels sick inside that he’s even curious about such a thing.

It’s all this little creep’s fault. Gladio had never had any such notions, not until he’d seen this stupid runt’s smiling face gazing at him during practice. Never would have entertained any thoughts about whether he might be having such difficulties with Aranea because of his own twisted desires.

“Fucking little pervert,” Gladio mutters. “You’re disgusting.”

Whether he’s saying that to himself or Prompto, he’s not completely sure.

Because the image of Prompto, half naked, tied up and gagged, and soiled by his own orgasm is _really_ doing something for Gladio, something Gladio desperately wants to see to the end.

With little hesitation, he steps forward and presses the aching swell of his cock against the soft surface of Prompto’s abdomen, nestling his knee in the cradle of his thighs where the evidence of his climax can soak through Gladio’s own shorts, unbinding thin wrists and dragging the shirt out from between his red, puffy lips. He grabs Prompto’s jaw in a tight grip and cranes his head to one side, extending the pale column of his pretty neck.

“We’re going to have to get you cleaned up,” Gladio suggests, and he can hear the need in his voice, an embarrassing desire burning there that surely Prompto won’t miss.

Prompto tries to nod in the restraint of Gladio’s hand, and he drops his grip to allow the guy to work his jaw back to comfort. Gladio has other needs to attend to.

He grabs the blond by the upper arm and hauls him toward the showers, shorts and socks and shoes still on, tossing him under a showerhead and cranking the knob to blast water all over both of them.

Prompto blocks a great deal of the water from soaking Gladio, but not for long when Gladio forces Prompto to turn this way and that under the spray. They’re both breathing heavily when Gladio deems him successfully rinsed off, their clothes clinging in soggy topography against their bodies.

Prompto’s refractory time is surprisingly short, and his now thoroughly soaked shorts show the definition of his excitement, plastered against his left thigh. His chest is gleaming with the sheen of water, nipples peaked and goosepimples rising all across his skin. With his hair dripping flat against his head, he looks completely disheveled, and it’s doing things to Gladio to see him so wet and slippery and turned on all at once.

Gladio cups the straining length of Prompto through his sopping shorts.

“Looks like maybe you need a _cold_ shower,” He says, a feral grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, unrestrained.

“You too,” Prompto breathes, and the lusty sound surges in Gladio’s dick, proving the nerd even more correct.

“You proud of yourself?” Gladio asks, his hand slipping further south and just slightly tugging on Prompto’s balls. “Putting fucked up ideas into my head?”

“A little,” Prompto laughs, and Gladio tugs harder, delighting in the sudden curl of his spine, as if he’s been punched in the gut. “Mm, harder, Gladdy.”

Gladio grunts, the warmth of his precome almost burning against the chill of his skin, now that the spray has gone lukewarm.

“You want harder, huh?” Gladio grips a shoulder and turns the smaller guy, facing him against the tiled wall. The shorts are clingy and riding up in back, and Gladio pushes up one leg of them, sliding it over the cleft of Prompto’s cheeks so that the pretty pink bud of his hole is exposed.

Gladio is going only on what he’s seen in the videos from PornHaven, now, never having even thought of taking Aranea this way, seeing it as too close to perversion. All Gladio can think of in this moment, however, is how inviting the pucker of his entrance looks.

He pushes the band of his own gym shorts down and takes his length in hand, wedging himself between Prompto’s legs and lining up the leaking head of his cock with the soft-looking ring of flesh.

When Prompto’s legs tense, Gladio doesn’t think anything of it, just pushes forward with his hips as he’s done several times when entering Aranea. He meets resistance, the bud more inflexible than it appears, and even with an experimental firmer pressure, he can’t seem to make his way inside with the ease he is familiar with. Why is it so easy for the guys in those videos?

“I can’t fucking-” Gladio grunts, frustrated, embarrassed that he can’t just make this happen, make Prompto think that he’s in control at all times. “Are you - don’t you want my cock?”

“I do, I really do,” Prompto nods, arching so that Gladio’s dick slips up and nestles in the cleft, tenting the backside of his shorts. “I think you gotta open me up first, though. I was hoping you could just force your way in, but…”

“Have you ever fucked before?” Gladio asks, dumbfounded. Horrified that he may have almost taken Prompto’s virginity without asking.

“No,” Prompto gasps, rubbing his ass along Gladio’s length like a horny animal. “I want to, so, so badly. Fuck me, please. I won’t tell anyone, I promise. I won’t tell.”

Gladio’s cock pulses so hard he thinks he is coming, but luckily he has somehow managed to hold it together.

“Do you know… how to make this work?” Gladio asks, flushing with shame.

“We need some kinda lube-” Prompto whines.

Gladio glances around the shower, not necessarily expecting to find anything appropriate since they’re supposed to bring in their own toiletries and remove them each time. But luckily, on the far wall, there’s an errant bottle of organic shampoo on one of the small shelves along the wall.

“Don’t move,” Gladio orders, and makes his way across the showers, his absolutely soaked socks squelching as he patters over the concrete floor. The bottle is almost full, and Gladio wonders how much they’ll have to use each time, whether they can go again on what they’ve got here.

When he turns back, Prompto has worked his shorts down to mid-thigh and is holding himself up against the wall with one arm while he teases at his ass with two fingers. Gladio groans, the sound luckily swallowed by the running water. He stomps back across the showers and slams the bottle down on the shelf near them, startling Prompto with the force of it.

“Did I tell you not to move, or did I fucking stutter?” Gladio growls into Prompto’s ear, pressing his body all along the back of the smaller guy.

“I wanted to try to get a head start,” Prompto explains.

Gladio removes Prompto’s hand from his backside and cracks a firm palm across the globe of the blond’s right cheek again, leaving an angry red mark in its wake and pulling a high cry from Prompto’s throat.

Gladio is pretty sure he can get things going from here. Seems like a simple concept. Slick up some fingers and work him open. Then slather the shampoo over his cock and push it in, finally.

Prompto does not make the task as easy as expected, though, when he moans like a deviant around the violation of Gladio’s fingers. Once Gladio is successfully forcing three inside with no resistance, Prompto begins to beg, and it’s maybe even hotter than Prompto silently taking the punishment Gladio had been doling out all along.

“Please, Gladio, I’ll do anything-” Prompto sobs, fingers trying in vain to grip the smooth, slick wall as he writhes under Gladio’s hands. “Just fucking take me, please, bury your cock in my ass and fill me up with your come-”

“Do I have to gag you again?” Gladio asks, harder than he ever imagined he could be.

“Let me be a slut for you,” Prompto continues, just babbling as much as possible, and Gladio realizes the blond is egging him on. “I need your cock so bad, gods, just push it into me, you don’t even have to ask-”

If that’s what he wants, Gladio thinks, that’s what he’ll get.

“Shut up,” Gladio commands, taking position behind Prompto, the bulb of his cock nestled against the loose pucker. Gladio reaches one last time for the bottle of shampoo and liberally pours it over the length of his manhood before slicking it all around the girth of him. He gives a tentative push, and unlike before, he slides past the agonizingly tight bud with ease. Prompto instantly quiets, and Gladio holds back his instinct to drive it home, slowly pushing inside, careful. 

“I’m not fucking made of glass,” Prompto cries, when Gladio hasn’t sunk completely inside him in the first two seconds.

“You’re tight as hell,” Gladio argues. “I’m not gonna like, rip you a new one.”

“Just get in me,” Prompto spits, backing against him sharply, taking a good two inches in one shove. He bucks, crying out, and Gladio stills, waiting for Prompto to indicate pain or pleasure. “Why are you so stupid big? Oh, gods-”

“Should I pull out?” Gladio asks, silently begging Prompto to say no. He’s only halfway in, but it’s absolute vice-grip heaven inside him.

“If you do, I’ll kick your ass,” Prompto answers, trying to cram more of Gladio inside himself with another backward push. “How much more of you is there?”

“Fuck,” Gladio gasps, looking down at the place where they’re joined for the first time. The dimples just above Prompto’s ass are like guiding arrows down to the split cleft of him, where Gladio’s considerable cock is sunk nearly to the hilt inside the warm, snug opening. He has to bite down so hard on his lip to avoid blowing that he worries he’ll soon taste blood. “You’ve almost taken it all. Gods, how close are you?”

“If you breathe anywhere near me, I’m going to bust,” Prompto pants. “But I want you all the way in.”

Gladio grabs Prompto’s shoulders in a white-knuckle grip and forces the rest of himself inside, unable to withstand Prompto’s mouth any longer. It’s the secret to truly shutting him up, it turns out, because once Gladio’s hips are rolling, Prompto can only shout and try to breathe as he hangs on to the wall as best he can.

When Gladio suddenly changes to a downward angled thrust, Prompto screams, though it’s throaty and ends on a laugh, so Gladio knows it isn’t pain related. He does it again, and again, and Prompto is begging, sobbing.

Gladio can’t hold out any longer, the stretched opening fluttering around him, and he reaches forward to grope for Prompto’s dick, finding it thick and slick with water. He gives a few tugs and then suddenly the already cramped grip of Prompto’s ass is constricting even tighter and Gladio is pouring every atom of himself out and into Prompto’s twitching insides while the blond screams with completion.

Gladio swears he comes for at least a full minute, and then he’s holding up the entire weight of Prompto’s spent form, one arm bracing them both up against the tile, still joined, never wanting to be separated again. When his release begins to seep out, Gladio realizes he’s got to give that idea up, and he reluctantly pulls himself free of the tight bud of Prompto’s ass as carefully as he can, helping the smaller guy to stand, the spray of the shower cold and uncomfortable. Gladio reaches out and cranks the heat up, letting the water sluice down his overheated skin and cleanse his still-sensitive cock of his mess.

Prompto is slowly regaining his ability to stand on his own, and similarly washes himself off, including cleansing his ass of Gladio’s remnants. He looks sore, grimacing as he works the spend out of himself, and Gladio feels a bit bad for going so hard, despite Prompto’s insistence.

“You okay?” Gladio asks, watching him work, as he strips away his own wet tee, gym shorts and socks.

“Yeah, just, ya know,” Prompto nods, smirking, as he pulls the remains of his clothes off, too. “A cannon up the ass is a bit uncomfortable, is all. Especially for my first time.”

“Sorry,” Gladio says, embarrassed.

“Uh, no complaints here, Big Guy,” Prompto laughs. “Wounds heal.”

“Wounds?” Gladio blinks, terrified.

“Figuratively,” Prompto answers, quickly. “I’m fine, promise.”

Prompto pushes up on his tiptoes and aims to plant his lips on Gladio’s, and for some reason, that’s a bridge too far. It snaps something in him, makes it too intimate, too… gay, but it’s already happening, and Gladio doesn’t want to admit to Prompto that he’s having second thoughts about this whole situation.

Prompto’s mouth is warm and soft and Gladio has never felt so much… affection poured into a kiss before. Aranea is usually either perfunctory or ravenous. His other kisses as a younger man had been awkward and sometimes downright unpleasant because of inexperience and lack of confidence in technique. Prompto’s kiss is a revelation, and unfortunately it’s not one Gladio is prepared to have yet.

“Shit, I have to get home, Big Guy,” Prompto says, scampering out of the showers. “Mom and Dad are gonna be back from Accordo tomorrow and I have to make sure the place is spotless before they arrive.”

“Sure,” Gladio says, distracted, watching Prompto towel his body off, as he does as well.

“Unless, you want to come over?” Prompto suggests as he tugs on another dry pair of shorts. “I’ve got actual lube at home.”

“I- I can’t,” Gladio answers, pulling his own clothes on, refusing to meet Prompto’s eyes, because it might make him give in. “Homework. Curfew.”

“Maybe when they’re gone again on Saturday?” Prompto pushes, hopeful, toweling his hair off. “After the meet? We could have all weekend to get better acquainted.”

“Maybe,” Gladio says, non-committal, finally fully dressed and shoving all his wet stuff into his duffel.

Prompto bounds over to him, a spring in his step and a galaxy of stars in his eyes, bag slung over his shoulder and smiling up with adoration.

“See you tomorrow?” Prompto asks, a sweet smile on his infinitely kissable lips.

“I mean, yeah,” Gladio tries, wishing he could push down the fear that is sweeping through him. Is Prompto going to want to like, hold hands in the halls? Sit together at lunch? Kiss him in front of his friends?

They walk out of the locker rooms after Prompto locks the gym door, and Gladio hangs back as he locks up behind them.

“Bye,” Prompto grins, then looks around, seemingly checking to see if anyone is around. They’re alone, of course, and Prompto leans up to press a quick kiss to Gladio’s slack mouth.

Part of Gladio wants to press back, to devour the silken lips, but the greater part of him is scared that he likes it too much, wants too much to let everything he’s been for eighteen years become a lie.

Prompto doesn’t seem to notice, and simply waves as he takes off for his place.

Gladio rakes a hand down his face, leans against the building and wonders what the hell he’s going to do if everything comes crashing down around him because he couldn’t stop himself from fucking the cute boy on his track team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fellas, is it gay to kiss your track teammate after you fuck him up the ass in the showers? Asking for a friend.


	11. Prompto: Don't Look At My Boner When We Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto tests some limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added a new tag at TurnipKeep's suggestion, because Prompto is a determined little shit.

Prompto arrives at school the next morning primed and ready, awake and alive like he’s had three lattes and wishing that it was a track practice day. The escalation of his and Gladio’s interactions have been _surprising_ to say the least. He’s been actively interested in sex since he was fifteen, but far too shy to initiate any sort of relationship that might lead to it. Even now.

It has been rather perfect to find someone that was willing to initiate contact without Prompto having to ask for it. Well, until they’d gotten to the stage in their intimacy that he had to beg. But that in and of itself didn’t feel too difficult to do once they were in the moment. In fact, he wasn’t exactly sure of what had all come spilling out of his mouth at the time. It was all a stream of consciousness and absolute urgency. No need for him to think or worry about sounding stupid.

So refreshing.

He wonders how Gladio will be, today. He hopes that the antagonism of their day-to-day relationship won’t be affected by the sudden consummation of the day before. He knows it probably won’t be the same, considering Gladio’s behavior when they’d parted. Hesitant. Unsure.

Prompto doesn’t see hide nor hair of Gladio for the first part of the morning, but chalks it up to either Gladio being late or just opting to skip out altogether. Understandable. The guy is clearly in his own head about being attracted to men, so for him to have so thoroughly fucked Prompto the day before, it must have been a shock to his system.

It’s not until lunch that Prompto catches a glimpse of him. He’s sitting with Loqi Tummelt, and a few other guys, as usual. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even glance Prompto’s way.

_Alright,_ Prompto thinks. _Gonna have to show you that I won’t do anything at school to make you look gay, I guess._

He’s got other things to think about today, anyway. His parents begrudgingly gave him fifty crown to put into his lunch fund, and it could potentially last him the rest of the year, so he’s got to hand that over to the cashier. He fishes his wallet out of his bag and jumps into the line, waiting to grab his food.

While he’s not paying attention, someone slaps the wallet out of his hand and onto the floor. With a look of frustrated shock, Prompto turns to see that it is Loqi, of course, and they both dive to retrieve the wallet from the floor, but Prompto is just a second too late.

“Mommy and Daddy finally scrape together enough money for you to eat something besides dry peanut butter and jelly?” Loqi asks, opening the wallet. “Look at all this! You could almost live on this, I bet.”

“Not all of us can be trust fund babies,” Prompto says, irritated. “Give it.”

“I don’t know,” Loqi hums. “I might have to charge you for mocking me. And for being in my line of sight. And for breathing.”

Prompto grabs the wrist of the hand that holds his wallet and _pulls_ , not afraid of a guy his own size. He’s not even afraid of a guy _three times_ his size.

Loqi doesn’t anticipate Prompto actually defending himself, though, and so the wallet and all its contents skitter across the floor.

“Grab his stuff!” Loqi yells, and several students pick up bills and some coins, running to different corners of the lunchroom.

“Assholes,” Prompto huffs. None of the lunch monitors are doing anything but telling kids to stop running.

It takes him at least ten minutes to get the students he can remember to fork over his money, and it’s not all there. He’s down to like thirty-five crown in the end. Loqi is laughing, nudging Gladio as Prompto gets back into the line, clenching his teeth in anger and putting another crusty sandwich on his tray.

Prompto can take what people dish out, usually, but he _hates_ losing money. It’s frustrating, and he won’t be able to ask his parents for more, considering all he had said to convince them about the amount being enough to get him through the remainder of the school year.

He wishes that he had time to get a part-time job. Maybe once summer really hits he can look into it, save up for his senior year. He really needs things to go a little more smoothly in the final stretches before college.

As he sits and picks at the terrible lunch, he feels Gladio’s eyes on him and chuckles to himself. Gladio is going to give _himself_ away, if he keeps up the staredown. Or maybe people will think that Gladio is trying to kill him with his thoughts.

Prompto, who may or may not have a bit of a deathwish at this point, meets Gladio’s eyes over the crowd around them, and winks with a devilish smirk.

The wave of embarrassment and rage that sweeps over the big guy is almost palpable, even from this distance. Prompto tears off a bit of his sandwich and saucily pops it into his mouth, licking his index finger and thumb. Gladio tears his eyes away, and the vein that is throbbing at his temple pulls a quiet laugh from Prompto’s chest.  
The guy really is too much fun.

The rest of the day goes smoothly, despite P.E. being high intensity, overly-competitive volleyball amongst the boy’s class. Prompto’s still sore body can only barely keep up with the quick pace that his classmates expect from his performance.

Gladio had done exactly as asked, when Prompto had begged him to go hard, and at the time it had been _so good_. Now he has a massive bruise on his ass from the spanking, not to mention the discomfort in _other_ places.

Still, he manages to keep up, and even earns himself a few pats on the shoulder from the guys assigned to his side of the net. He considers possibly joining the volleyball team next year.

When the final bell of the day signals the student’s departure, Prompto dumps most of his stuff into his locker, blissfully light on homework for the night. He plans to use some of his free time in the Photo lab, developing some shots he took last month but hasn’t had time to work on.

When most of the students have already hastily made their way to their buses and bikes, and a few more well-off kids get picked up by their drivers, Prompto slings his bag over his shoulders and shuts his locker, turning away toward the library, and beyond that, the Photography classroom. Halfway down the now quiet hall, he notices footfalls behind him, and tries to glance back with his peripheral vision.

Realistically, it’s either a random student on their way to their own club activities or detention, but the other option puts a grin on his face. He decides to feign ignorance, letting his possible predator stalk along in his wake, and pushes open the Photography room door without a backward glance.

Setting his bag down on the nearest table in the empty room, he’s pleased when the door opens behind him just a moment later.

Prompto only barely turns around before a huge hand is around his neck, this time less possessive and more with an intent to choke. The grip tightens as Gladio glowers down at him, angrier than Prompto has ever seen him.

“You’re fucking lucky no one saw that shit you pulled,” The brute growls, and that, combined with the obstruction of his oxygen, thrills down Prompto’s spine.

“Hey, Big Guy, save it for tomorrow,” Prompto smirks, choking out the words.

“You’re not gonna see tomorrow,” Gladio threatens, with all of the sincerity of a conman, his grip easing. “You don’t look at me like that, ever. Not here. Not where people can see you.”

“But I can look at you like that when I’m sucking your cock after the meet, right?” Prompto stares him down, putting the lust coursing through him to use.

Gladio snaps, forces Prompto down onto the table, pinning him thoroughly with just the hand on his neck as he is uncomfortably and awkwardly sprawled across the surface.

“I mean it,” Gladio seethes through his teeth. “I really will beat your ass if you let anyone know what happened yesterday.”

“You think these threats are working, don’t you?” Prompto smiles, and pushes up against Gladio’s immovable hand, choking himself a little harder, his words shaky with the obstruction. “Show me what an ass beating would look like, Gladio.”

Gladio flushes, and it’s a sight to behold. The flush of shock is replaced swiftly with a grimace of rage, and Prompto is hauled back up to his feet, Gladio’s fist raised. The big guy seems to hesitate, and rather than directing the blow to Prompto’s face, the blond is doubled over around the fist as it catches him in the gut.

The wind knocked out of him, Gladio throws him onto the ground and kicks him in the arm that he has reflexively wrapped around his own torso to protect himself from more injury to the area.

“Get up,” The larger guy demands, kicking him again when he doesn’t comply. “Do I have to pull you up by the hair?”

“Only if it’s to get me on my knees for you,” Prompto says, goading him even more as he tries to push himself off the floor.

“Shut up,” Gladio shouts, and kicks him in the shoulder, throwing him back onto the floor, face up this time. “Why can’t you ever just shut up?” It comes out a little bit pleadingly.

Prompto laughs. “Good question, Big Guy.” He looks up at the brunette, a little dazed from the struggle, and smiles with glee when he sees the strain of Gladio’s jeans. Prompto is a little hard, too, but the pain radiating from his stomach, shoulder and arm is diminishing his ability to really get it up. “It’s probably because whenever I talk, you seem to have such an intense reaction. I can’t help myself.”

“Just stay away from me,” Gladio bites out, his knuckles white, clenched into tight fists at his sides.

“Hey, you’re the one that came to me,” Prompto shrugs, from the floor. “Every single time. You know that, right? You’re the one that can’t stay away.”

“Watch me,” Gladio growls, kicking him one last time in the hip before storming out.

“Hahaha,” Prompto winces with the jarring of his various injuries. None of them will last long, though, he laments. Gladio pulled his punches, and not just the first time when he seemed to weigh whether or not to give Prompto a black eye. “Wonder if this means he’s not gonna show up for our sleepover?” He says to the empty room.

Picking himself off the ground, he decides to head home rather than attempt to maneuver through the various steps of developing his photos with sore limbs and guts. He swings the bag across his shoulders again, with a hiss of discomfort, and tries to smooth out his disheveled hair before exiting the classroom.

Wouldn’t want any random students to think something untoward had happened, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompto: You can beat me, you can make me pee on my textbooks, and you can dunk my head into a toilet, but you better be hot if you want to try to take my lunch money.


	12. Gladio: The Burden of Expectation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio's performance at the track meet is sub-par, but the after-party has some potential.

Gladio does poorly at the track meet, disqualifying out of his events early on. A heavy cloud of frustration settles over him and he feels as though his father’s disapproval is weighing on him from across the field where the older Amicitia and Iris sit on the bleachers. He’s going to get a lecture on their way home about how “doing his best isn’t good enough unless he succeeds.”

He _is_ doing his best. But lately, his best has been blended together with his _worst_ and he can’t seem to separate the pieces.

Gladio watches as Prompto rounds the track, about to hit the last lap in his final event, and though he’s out ahead, he seems to still be pacing himself. That jackoff that always overtakes him at the last second is gaining, ready to steal the victory once more. When they both reach the halfway point, though, Prompto picks up his knees and throws himself into running as hard as he can, putting some distance between himself and the Ravatogh runner. They’re still far from the finish line, and Gladio can see Prompto is losing steam. He’s not going to make it.

Part of him wonders if he has anything to do with Prompto’s level of energy, considering the beating he’d given the guy yesterday afternoon. When the team had gathered earlier this morning, the blond seemed perfectly fine, no evidence that anything had transpired between practice on Thursday and now. But he is visibly flagging, here at the end of his event. Gladio’s never seen him run out of energy before.

The other guy begins to gain ground, so close that he could reach out and push Prompto over, if he were a cheating bastard. But again, Prompto seems to hear his footsteps and surges forward with everything he’s got.

Gladio sits up, watching with excitement beating a loud drum through his veins, hoping that Prompto can hold out a little longer and finally beat that smug asshole.

They’re neck-and-neck, and Prompto’s face is scarlet with effort. Gladio holds his breath as they round the track, mere feet to the end.

With a final burst of strength, Prompto pushes ahead, just a couple of inches, and launches himself past the finish line, a roar of celebration erupting from the crowd, and from Gladio, too.

Prompto stumbles and falls to the ground, his momentum interrupted as he realizes he’s made it past the line, and a strange impulse shoots through Gladio to go over and help him up. He blinks it away, folds his hands as he leans on his thighs, collecting himself.

Drautos makes his way over to help Prompto stand, shaking his hand and congratulating him. Prompto’s sparkling eyes and wide smile surge through Gladio jealously, and he tries to push it down, ignore it.

Gladio notices the scrapes on Prompto’s knees as the smaller boy makes his way over to the stands, the rough texture of the track having shredded the flesh somewhat. They’re sluggishly bleeding. Prompto stumbles over to two adults that Gladio assumes are his parents. They’re not very expressive, at least not compared to their son, but they smile and nod, pat his shoulders.

It seems fairly cold. At least when Gladio wins his events, his dad folds him into a hug.

Neither of Prompto’s parents even notice his injuries.

Gladio stands from his seat to find Drautos, to ask him for the first aid kit, but out of the corner of his eye he sees his father approaching. For a moment he considers walking away, pretending he hadn’t seen him, but he knows that will only result in his dad calling him out for cowardice, so he meets the older man halfway.

“Gladiolus, what happened out there?” Clarus asks, the firm set of his brows and frown twisting sharply in Gladio’s stomach.

“Sorry, Father,” Gladio bows his head a little. “I’m not sure, exactly. I’ve been having some trouble-”

“I told you that you could join multiple teams if you were firm in your commitments,” Clarus plows ahead, ignoring Gladio’s response. “Between last week at the wrestling meet and now this? I think you need to focus on swimming. It’s the one thing you’ve been consistently good at.”

“Sir, I can improve my-”

“Gladiolus,” Clarus says, in that tone that allows for no discussion. “Monday morning, you’re going to tell Drautos that you’re leaving the track team and the wrestling team.”

“Yes, sir,” Gladio says, automatically, but the knot of anger pulses in his guts and curls his hands into tight fists at his sides.

“I’m taking Iris to her skating lesson,” Clarus reminds Gladio. “You have a ride home, I trust?”

“Yes, sir,” It’s all Gladio is capable of saying, lest his festering rage slip out.

“I have plans with Regis this evening and I won’t be at home,” Clarus informs him. “Iris has insisted that she is fine on her own, but surely you have schoolwork to attend to. I expect you to be there when I arrive home. No later than midnight, do you understand?”

Yes, sir,” The mantra is a low buzz in his ears, his frustration whirling through his blood.

“Dismissed,” Clarus says, as though he is Gladio’s coach and not his father.

Gladio glances over at the Argentums, who still haven’t noticed the limp in their son’s step, who are raising hands in farewell to him, no hug, no show of congratulations. He remembers that Prompto said they’d be ‘leaving’ again.

It annoys him to see them ignore their son’s pain.

It annoys him to feel sympathy with the blond. To know that the smile plastered on his face is fake as hell, just as Gladio’s obedience is with his own father.

For once, Gladio watches Prompto and isn’t angry with _him_ , but angry at the callous adults in both their lives.

He wants to release the anger, and he wonders if Prompto feels the same way. If maybe what they’ve been doing together has been a balm on a festering wound for him as much as for Gladio, in its own odd way.

The meet ends with a slight victory by the Insomnian team overall, and after a round of showers, Drautos calls them all over to announce that he’s going to take them out for pizza to celebrate. It’s the last fucking thing Gladio wants to do after today. He glances to his right at the perky blond, his knees finally bandaged and his usual cheerful demeanor in place.

As if he can feel Gladio’s stare, Prompto’s head swivels to glance back, and the cute expression he held melts into something altogether suggestive and just a little bit irritating.

Gladio feels a flare of aggression, and clings to it. This is familiar, and comforting, and he knows that Prompto takes just as much pleasure in it, if not more. So he grimaces back at the boy, and grits his teeth when Prompto smirks with understanding.

As the team files onto the schoolbus, Prompto hangs back at the end of the line, seemingly waiting for Gladio to slip behind him.

“You really want to go eat shitty pizza? You know Drautos can’t afford to take us somewhere _good_.” Gladio growls as he steps into place at Prompto’s back.

“It’s better than what I’ll eat tonight for dinner,” Prompto shrugs. “I was planning on digging into my ramen stash. Mom and Dad are gonna be gone for two weeks this time so I gotta make that hundo stretch.”

“Do they always leave you alone with nothing for food?” Gladio asks, a little surprised that the rumors of Prompto’s poverty are true. He always looks so put together and healthy. Not to mention how well-dressed his parents had been. Were they just stingy when it came to giving their son money to sustain himself?

“Pretty much,” Prompto nods, moving forward with the line. “It’s fine. I can manage.”

Gladio’s anger flares again. Not only at the Argentums, but at Prompto for being so stupidly prideful that he won’t ask for help. Or call child protective services for himself.

Gladio grabs his upper arm in a vice grip, startling a sound from Prompto’s throat.

“Let’s get out of here,” Gladio says, pulling on him. “I don’t want to eat garbage. We’ll get something else.”

“Oh, a date?” Prompto jokes, batting his eyelashes.

“Shut the fuck up,” Gladio stares down at him, tugging hard on the arm in his hand, Prompto squawking with the rough treatment. “We’ll go to your place. My sister will be at mine.”

“You got it,” Prompto smiles, the curve of his lips less a suggestion and more a blatant display of enticement.

They stop by Gladio’s favorite take-out place and grab some food before heading to Prompto’s house. It’s a bit of a trek, and Gladio is surprised that Prompto walks it everyday. He watches as the shorter guy’s steps stutter, wondering if it’s fatigue or the scrapes to his knees, and feels badly that he suggested they skip the bus ride to the pizza place.

“Sorry it’s so far,” Prompto says, and Gladio furrows his brows.

“What’re you apologizing for?” He grumbles. “Not like you picked out the location.”

“Haha, true,” Prompto agrees. “I’ve just never had a friend over before, so I’m feeling a little guilty dragging you all the way out here.”

_A friend,_ Gladio snorts. “It’s fine. I basically invited myself over, anyhow.”

“I guess you did,” Prompto grins up at him. “What a bully.”

Gladio takes the shot right between the ribs. He _is_ a bully. He’s a mean, nasty, sad little man that has been taking out his insecurities on a guy half his size. He’s ashamed, furious at himself. He hesitates, slowing his pace toward Prompto’s house.

“Hey, Gladio, I was just teasing,” Prompto says, noticing his discomfort and tilting his head sympathetically. Embarrassment sparks in his chest. “You know I like it, right?”

“Why?” Gladio bites out, the question jumping from his mouth.

“Hmm,” Prompto folds his arms across his chest, tapping his foot. “Hard to say, really.”

Gladio grits his teeth. “What kind of answer is that?”

“You really want me to get into details? Out here?” Prompto waves a hand at their surroundings, at the row houses to their left, the busy street to their right. Though there aren’t any passersby on the sidewalk, Gladio has to agree that he’d rather not chance a random stranger overhearing discussion of their mutual depravity.

“Yeah, yeah, alright, shut up,” Gladio says, looking around and shoving Prompto forward.

“Mmm, yeah, just like that,” Prompto purrs, and Gladio’s blood pressure spikes.

“Shut _up_ ,” Gladio hisses, pulling his arm down the street, despite the fact that he doesn’t know which house is Prompto’s.

“You sure you want to be seen dragging me around?” Prompto goads him. “What if someone from school saw us together? What would they think?”

“Where is your fucking house?” Gladio growls, trying to resist taking the bait to shake him senseless right out here on the street.

“It’s this one,” Prompto says, pushing past the little gate right next to them and up the steps to the door with a self-satisfied grin. Gladio wants to wipe that smirk off his face. How is it possible that this little blond asshole is so good at riling him up?

Prompto leads them through a narrow hallway past a tight staircase and a small living room into a cramped kitchen with barely enough room for barstools at the island. There’s no dining table, no cozy place for a small family to eat together. Gladio imagines it doesn’t happen even when the Argentums are home.

“You know, if you want, we can just put away the food in the fridge for now,” Prompto says, setting his bag onto the counter. “Wouldn’t want to waste all that good fighting energy you’ve got built up.”

“You’re twisted,” Gladio spits, hotly.

“Definitely,” Prompto smiles. “What’s that make you, then?”

“Corrupted,” Gladio answers, placing the blame squarely on the temptation in front of him.

“I can deal with that,” Prompto says, matter-of-fact. “Gonna punish me?”

Gladio is shamefully hard. “Depends, are you gonna shut your trap?”

“Only if you make me,” Prompto breathes, and Gladio can see the excited peaks of his nipples through his tee shirt. “I can keep going, you know, so you better come up with away to-”

Gladio puts both strong hands to Prompto’s shoulders and forces him down to the floor and onto his knees, belatedly remembering the injuries there when the blond yelps. He resists the urge to apologize, knowing the pain is probably welcome, the coercion is what has the smaller guy so excited, and instead pulls out his cock from his track pants to force it past Prompto’s lips.

With a muffled noise of surprise, Prompto takes him, moaning wantonly and drooly eagerly as his head bobs along Gladio’s length. Gladio blindly reaches for something to grab onto as he’s sucked down, but both the counter and the wall are too far away. A hand tugs his own down to lay atop sweaty blond hair, and he finds himself fisting the soft strands in both of his hands.

Prompto pulls away for just a moment, his purple eyes clouded with lust but piercing in their intensity. “Fuck my throat.”

Gladio groans behind his teeth, hard and rough, as he’s buried between those soft lips again. He carefully thrusts his hips forward, deeper into the hot, wet cavern, revelling in the hungry noises coming from Prompto’s full mouth.

Gladio wants to bite his lip to keep from releasing any embarrassingly loud moans, but they’re welling up in him. Aranea never felt like this, never twisted him up inside so much that he wanted to _scream_.

For a moment Gladio thinks about pouring himself down Prompto’s throat, but the memory of how tight and greedy his ass was only a few days ago burns into his brain, and he wants so much more than to come in his mouth.

Gladio pulls him off by the asymmetrical haircut and shoves him onto the ground on his backside.

“I know another thing that shuts you up,” Gladio says, recalling the way Prompto’s babbling mouth quieted when Gladio pushed inside. “You said you had - _stuff_ we could use. Where?”

Prompto perks up like an eager puppy. “In my room, upstairs. I’ll toss the food in the fridge, you go on up. First door on the left.”

Gladio tucks his erection back into his pants and takes the stairs two at a time. He pushes through the indicated door carefully, knowing they’re alone but apprehensive about poking around a stranger’s house, even though he’s been invited to do so.

Prompto’s room is littered with the typical mess of a guy’s bedroom; dirty clothes strewn about, a mess of papers on his desk, garbage haphazardly tossed near the small bin next to his surprisingly large bed. One entire wall of his room is covered in photographs, from landscapes to cute animals to blurry photos of people, none of whom Gladio recognizes. He vainly searches for a shot of himself but there are far too many for him to inspect them all.

Prompto’s desk holds a laptop and his camera, along with a tiny, ancient TV and an even older console. A shelf holds four more consoles of varying ages nearby, ready to be plugged into the TV when in use, it seems.

There’s not much different about their lives, Gladio reflects. His room looks much the same, only bigger and with newer technology and decor.

“Where were we?” Prompto asks, blithely, as he strides into the room, not shutting the door behind him. “Oh, right, you were going to shut me up again.”

Prompto approaches him and Gladio uses a wrestling move to dodge and pin the smaller guy to his bed, on his stomach, a hard elbow digging into Prompto’s shoulder blade as he’s held down with one arm behind his back. He struggles, impressively, for a full minute before realizing that Gladio truly has him immobilized.

“Damn, Big Guy,” Prompto sighs, again, in a dreamy, breathy voice that is more appropriate for a romantic evening rather than being roughly pinned face-down. “You really got me at your mercy.”

Gladio digs his hips into Prompto’s ass, the pressure on his cock scintillating and sparking through his legs and abdomen.

“You gonna beg me?” Gladio grunts, pressing harder on the shoulder blade.

Prompto cries out in pain, and it surges in Gladio’s member.

“Please,” Prompto breathes. “Split me open on that monster of yours.”

Gladio groans and releases Prompto’s arms to drag blunt nails down his back, ripping away his shorts and rubbing the satiny length of his own trapped dick against the soft flesh of the smaller boy’s spread cheeks. He sinks careful teeth into the juncture of Prompto’s neck and shoulder, pushing his hands up and under the blond’s tee to claw at the front of his torso.

Prompto mewls and writhes, purposely dragging his ass up and down the length of Gladio’s member, begging, without words, to be taken again. Gladio wants to oblige, but not to the extent of possibly gravely injuring him. He’s past the furious need to see this guy as his enemy.

“Where’s your stuff?” Gladio asks, and it sounds embarrassingly desperate.

“Nightstand,” Prompto breathes, and luckily, it’s an arm’s length away. Gladio doesn’t think he could suffer the indignity of having to get up and face this impulsivity. Blissfully, it’s a flip-cap, no tedious unscrewing, and with no hesitation, Gladio wrenches his pants back down and slicks himself, then remembers he needs to get Prompto open, too.

His hand is still fairly slippery, so he presses two blunt fingertips to the pucker, feeling for it rather than looking, and Prompto shudders as they’re pressed inside.

“Gladio, I want your dick, not your fingers,” Prompto complains, even as he’s thrusting back onto the intrusion.

“Why do you always want to hurt yourself on my cock?”

“I think you might be confused as to what we’re doing here, Big Guy.”

“I’m not here to _hurt_ you,” Gladio insists, gasping as he works his hand in Prompto’s greedy body. “Not like that.”

“Please, just fuck me,” Prompto begs. “I’m ready, I can take it, just get inside me.”

Gladio remembers that he was insistent just like this the last time, and his assertions were true; he was soft and pliant and agonizingly sweet to slide into. When Gladio removes his fingers, Prompto sighs with relief, knowing he’s about to get what he’s asked for.

It takes a nudge to slide the fat head of his cock past the ring of tight flesh, and with a long groan, he seats himself fully within the shivering blond under him.

“Fuck, that’s so fucking good,” Prompto moans, bouncing his ass with wet slaps against Gladio’s thighs, while Gladio just tries to hang on. “Getting so deep. Fill me up, Gladio.”

“Sh-shut up,” Gladio grunts, trying to hold the wild hips still. “Slow down. I’m not made of stone, you know.”

“We’ve got all night to go at it,” Prompto says, grinding his hips in a circular motion, and Gladio’s head spins. “You think once is going to be enough? For either of us?”

“Gods,” Gladio huffs, trying to slow the heavy hammering of his heart as he lets Prompto use his aching cock. He glances down to where they’re joined, and the slick slide and pull of Prompto’s ass along the swollen, red length of him is too sinful to bear, and he has to clench his eyes shut and press his forehead in between Prompto’s shoulder blades.

“You close?” Prompto asks, trembling all around him. “I’m right on the edge, and I wanna take you with me.”

“Yeah,” Gladio’s hands curl around Prompto’s slim hips as the blond picks up his pace again. The tremor of his flesh as it slams against Gladio’s thighs is hypnotic, and the increasing tightness of his passage is pulling Gladio closer to that edge, too.

“Touch me, Gladio,” Prompto leans back, still controlling their pace, pulling Gladio’s right hand from his hip to the hot, thick length between his legs. It’s silky smooth and wet with precome, and the velvet drag of his foreskin up and down his glans pulls a moan from Gladio’s chest.

Just as Gladio truly explores the shape of Prompto’s cock, the muscles inside the blond clamp down around his own member, and they’re both pulled over the precipice, spending with a hoarse cry from both of them.

They’re both breathing heavily, but somehow miraculously still vertical, Gladio still firmly inside Prompto as he sits atop his thighs. Gladio glances down at the nape of Prompto’s neck as the blond head sags forward, trying to come back down from the high of completion. His neck and shoulders are peppered with freckles, and covered in a light sheen of sweat that Gladio inexplicably wants to lick away.

He presses his lips to the space between neck and shoulder and allows his hands to smooth over the slender stomach in front of him. Gladio doesn’t want to think about how close to a hug the action is. But then Prompto huffs a small laugh and wraps his own arms across Gladio’s in a return gesture.

It’s the softness that freezes Gladio where he kneels, his lap full of the guy that has forced him to admit so many uncomfortable things about himself. The guy who is now laughing at him for holding him kindly.

“Too bad we didn’t do it in the shower again,” Prompto chuckles. “Now I’m gonna have to do a really unsexy awkward walk to the bathroom. Promise not to look and destroy the illusion?”

“I won’t,” Gladio answers, releasing him from his embrace, his misconception of the laugh now dispelled. Prompto slides forward and off Gladio’s limp manhood, the mess of his climax soiling the both of them. “I’m gonna follow you, though. I gotta wash off, too.”

“We should probably use condoms from now on,” Prompto notes, tripping across the hall and into the tiny bathroom that clearly belongs to him. His parents must have a master bath. He and Gladio barely fit in the shower together, but it’s pleasant and more comfortable than Gladio wants to examine.

Prompto’s hands are gentle and playful as they both clean off, and Gladio wonders, not for the first time, why someone as empathetic and kind wants to constantly be in such a tumultuous rela- _association_ with him.

When they’re drying off, Prompto smiles and looks at Gladio out of the corner of his eye, coyly and affectionately like he did a few days ago when they left the school. It has the same effect on Gladio now that it did then. It makes Gladio want to run as far away as possible.

“I don’t think I have any pajamas that’ll fit you, but maybe you could squeeze into my dad’s? Might be tight, though, he’s only a little larger than me.”

“Uh, I’m-” Gladio knows that he’s supposed to go home, to be there in his bedroom when his father comes home from a night out with his best friend. But the idea of staying out, going against his father’s commands, punishing the old man for taking away two of his outlets for his anger… it’s overriding his desire to flee. “I’m getting pretty hungry. Wanna eat after we’re dressed?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Prompto smiles happily and that fear digs its fingers in, but Gladio fights with it, tries to let the joy and affection sneak in and take up a home inside him.

He does the unthinkable and leans in, pulling Prompto toward him and pressing their lips together, chastely, as Prompto had done after their first time together. The blond makes a pleased little noise and returns the kiss, opening his mouth a little and changing the angle, and oh, when their lips actually interlock it’s like fire. Gladio grunts in appreciation as Prompto’s tongue quests inside his mouth, teasing at his own. It’s hot and wet and electric, and Gladio thinks that this isn’t as bad as he was imagining, it’s a battle of its own between them. Prompto has the upper hand, and for some reason, Gladio is alright with it. For now.

The blond pulls away with a happy little hum, lowering himself back down off his tip toes.

“Are we even gonna make it downstairs to eat?” Prompto laughs, both of their cocks pressing insistently against each other.

“Eventually,” Gladio laughs, and Prompto blinks, a smile slowly spreading across his cheeks. “What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you smile before,” Prompto says, smoothing his fingers over Gladio’s cheeks.

“We can’t all walk around every day with an idiotic grin plastered on our faces,” Gladio raises an eyebrow, his mouth pulling back down into a frown.

“Guess not,” Prompto says, pulling his mouth into an annoyingly fake smile to prod him. “C’mon, let’s go get dressed. I’m seriously hungry as hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladio didn’t do as well as usual at his events because he stopped running (from his feelings).


	13. Prompto: Pillow Fight and Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto can’t help himself, now that he’s got Gladio alone for the whole night.

Prompto is having a very hard time concentrating on his meal when Gladio is sitting shirtless in his kitchen, wearing too-tight lounge pants and eating beef skewers so aggressively. All told, this might be the best day of his life. He finally won against that absolute prick from Ravatogh, his parents actually made it to the meet, and he got to have sex with Gladio again. And now the ruffian is going to spend the night entangled with him however many times they can manage.

“How is it?” Gladio asks, around a mouthful of rice.

“Better than cardboard pizza, that’s for sure,” Prompto answers with a grin. “Yours?”

“Awesome, as always,” Gladio nods, shoveling more food in his mouth.

Prompto can feel the awkward waves radiating off of the larger guy, and it’s almost adorable. For someone who seems to live aggressively twenty-four-seven, Prompto is surprised that Gladio would have any capacity to feel embarrassed.

Taking a bit of pity on him, and honestly unable to contain the magnetic pull of Gladio’s body, Prompto closes up his food and tucks it into the fridge again, so that he can round the island and straddle one of Gladio’s enormous thighs, pressing his slightly filling member against the muscled expanse through their pajamas as he smooths his hands up the bare topography of Gladio’s chest.

The brunette’s attention is drawn from his food with a bit of confusion, but when Prompto stretches forward, silently begging for Gladio’s lips, he takes the hint and pulls the blond fully into his lap on the thankfully sturdy barstool.

They kiss feverishly for some minutes, until Gladio pulls away with a huge breath, pressing his forehead to Prompto’s.

“Something wrong, Big Guy?” Prompto nudges Gladio’s nose with his own.

“Yeah, a fucking lot,” Gladio answers. “But I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just go back to your room.”

“Fine by me,” Prompto laughs a little. “But you gotta let me down, first.” Gladio’s hands are firmly gripping Prompto’s thighs, just at the swell of his backside, preventing him from easily slipping off of the larger guy’s lap.

“I don’t, actually,” Gladio says, and stands, hoisting Prompto with him. He makes his way to the stairs, and Prompto moans aloud.

“That is so fucking hot,” He says, his cock throbbing as it is trapped between their stomachs. “You could probably throw me through a wall, couldn't you?”

“You find _that_ hot?” Gladio asks as he struggles to make it up the narrow stairs without smashing Prompto’s busted knees into the walls.

“For sure,” Prompto nods, arms wrapped around Gladio’s shoulders, one hand in his still slightly damp hair. “You’ve got the upper hand here, Big Guy. You could just hold me down and take whatever you want from me. What am I gonna do?”

Gladio groans as he carries Prompto into his bedroom. As requested, Gladio throws him down with force, but into the mattress. It still knocks a bit of air out of his lungs, and once Prompto catches a glimpse of how hard Gladio is in his pajamas, he smiles, happy that his suggestions seem to have gone straight to the larger guy’s cock.

“You’re gonna lay there and take it,” Gladio tells him, and oh, _yes_ , he is. Large fingers hook into the waistband of Prompto’s lounge pants and draw them roughly down before Gladio divests himself as well. “Where are those condoms you talked about earlier?”

“In my gym bag,” Prompto points to the corner behind his open door. “Side pocket. They’re hidden in my socks.”

Gladio hesitates for a moment, and an odd look passes over his face, but before Prompto can ask what’s wrong, he turns and rifles through the bag.

There’s not a ton of ceremony when Gladio returns with the packet, he simply tears it open and rolls it onto his length, then grabs the lube bottle from where they left it on the floor and preps the blond as quickly as possible.

Prompto expects to be thrown onto his stomach and summarily mounted, but he’s surprised when Gladio pushes Prompto’s knees up to his chest and pushes inside slowly, his calves thrown over both of Gladio’s shoulders. He slides home and-

“Oh, gods,” Prompto chokes. “So deep-!”

Gladio’s only answer is a grunt and a slow, splitting thrust. The relaxed pace continues for several long rolls of his hips and Prompto really _can’t_ do anything but lay there and let it happen, with Gladio’s weight crushing him into the mattress and pinning his legs against his chest. The pressure on his body is overwhelming and sends danger signals to his brain, an instinct in his flesh to fight the predator holding him down. It all flickers with pleasure in his nerves, and pools hotly in his pelvis.

Just when Prompto opens his mouth to beg Gladio to fuck him harder, the older guy does - a snap of his hips that sends his member even deeper somehow, the friction of the pace buzzing pleasantly to his cock. But with little stimulation to his prostate in this position, Prompto is aching for some touch on his manhood to truly bring him over the precipice and into orgasm.

Gladio seems like he’s already nearly there.

“Big Guy-” Prompto begins to ask, but a huge hand closes over his mouth, muffling a startled squeal and then a frustrated groan.

“I told you,” Gladio says, a tremor in his rough voice. “You’re just a hole for me to use. A tight little ass for me to pound.”

Prompto actually cries out behind the sweaty palm, the pulse in his dick almost painful, the leak of his precome a hot drip on his belly. If Gladio leans just a little bit forward, his muscled abs will rub against him and he can come, but the giant above him is persistent in his angle as he chases his own orgasm.

Prompto tries to curl his tongue around one of the fingers blocking his mouth, pushing through the juncture of two of the digits and pulling a moan from the brunette. Two of the thick fingers push inside his mouth and he _sucks_. Gladio is immediately roaring with completion as his hips stutter with a few erratic final thrusts before his large body slumps against Prompto’s, heaving exhausted breaths.

If he thought Gladio’s weight was a pressure before, it has nothing on his _dead-weight_. Prompto’s knees are practically behind his ears at this point, and his poor cock still hasn’t found relief.

With effort, Gladio heaves himself up off of Prompto’s chest and allows the blond’s pale thighs to fall to either side of his own hips before grabbing the lube and pouring a generous amount into his left hand. Slicking up both of his palms, he finally works them both over Prompto’s length, and he nearly cries with relief, even with the enormous member still buried inside him.

“You’re pretty thick,” Gladio observes, and Prompto realizes with a daze that this is the first time Gladio’s really had time to examine his cock, their other encounters mostly resulting in Prompto facing away from him. “I expected you to be more proportional to your size.”

“Thought about that a lot, did you?” Prompto laughs, breathless as Gladio slips his hand expertly around the head of his dick. A firm grip on his balls tugs a warning, but Prompto only groans in arousal, that thrill of danger spiking exquisitely. “It’s okay, Big Guy, I can’t compare to you, so don’t get insecure.”

“Just shut up and come already,” Gladio glares down at him. “Quit trying to be a smartass and concentrate.”

“You got it,” Prompto smiles, and arches his back on a particularly sweet stroke, clenching his eyes shut with a long moan. “Whatever that was, keep doing it,” He begs.

Gladio complies, again and again, and finally the coil tightens to the breaking point and Prompto forces his hips forward into Gladio’s fist, erupting with a scream that breaks into a stuttering groan as his orgasm lasts for a long moment.

Prompto dimly feels Gladio lean away but _still_ doesn’t pull out of him, and after a minute a gentle hand is cleaning the mess from the tip of his cock and the few spurts that landed on his stomach.

“You like staying inside me, huh?” Prompto comments.

“Yeah, I guess,” Gladio says, pulling out and slipping off the condom, tossing it at the trash bin near the bed.

“Not trying to make you feel self-conscious,” Prompto assures him, brushing fingers across Gladio’s slightly stubbly face. “Just an observation. It’s kinda hot. Like you’re trying to make sure I know I’m yours.”

“That’s not what that is,” Gladio says, seeming to stiffen. “I just thought if I stayed in you, I might get hard again.”

“Mm,” Prompto nods. He’s said too much, again. “Guess I’m not hot enough to get you up more than once. Ah, well. There’s always time later. Wanna play games for a while? ‘Til the mood takes us again?”

“Mm,” Gladio hums, walking across the hall to rinse off in the bathroom sink. “Sure.”

The sixth time they have sex that night, it’s about three in the morning, when Prompto wakes to Gladio’s manhood pressed against his bare ass under the blankets. He rolls over and eases himself on top of Gladio, kissing him awake with an adorably annoyed groan, until the larger guy realizes what is happening and sinks into the press of their lips with a pleased moan.

It takes little preparation for Gladio to slide neatly inside Prompto from below, the condom slick enough to ease his girth within the familiar passage, and they rock slowly, sleepily together. Prompto tries not to dig the heels of his hands too hard into Gladio’s pecs, until he is drawn down by large hands to press their chests together. Gladio shifts just a little to do most of the work, his knees bent and pushing Prompto’s body up his own so that their mouths can meet.

Prompto’s orgasm surprises him this time, not by its swiftness, but by how it feels like molten liquid low in his gut spreading sweetly and slowly throughout his body, down through his legs and up to his chest. Gladio follows soon after, pushing Prompto’s hips down and cresting with a soft, tired groan.

They kiss softly and Prompto’s heart stutters with something other than arousal this time.

He cleans Gladio with a warm washcloth that he grabs from the bathroom and snuggles back into his embrace as they lay quietly together, a wish for the morning to never arrive gripping his thoughts as he melts into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry everyone, they did adequate stretches before their marathon. They’re trained runners, ya know?
> 
> ____
> 
> Once again, I am traveling, so the chapter release will likely be delayed until later tomorrow evening, or perhaps even the following day once I’m settled in. Thanking you in advance for your patience! <3


	14. Gladio: Mixed Signals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio wakes up, and makes a huge mistake.

Gladio wakes up when the sunlight filters in through Prompto’s blinds directly into his eyes, and he grimaces, trying to shift away from the beam but finds himself fairly trapped under Prompto’s weight on his chest. They’re laying comfortably wrapped around each other, and Gladio can’t believe he was able to sleep so well with this barnacle stuck to him. He smiles down at the stubbornly sleeping guy and brushes a long strand of blond hair away from the line of drool leaking from his mouth. He breathes a laugh, and the action stirs a memory from the night before:

 _“I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you smile before,”_ Prompto had said, affection plain on his face.

Gladio pulls a little harder to get his arm free from under Prompto, and the blond rolls over onto his other side, a content little sigh slipping free.

Gladio desperately looks around for his clothes, lost fairly early in the afternoon the day before, and pulls them on with haste. If he’s quick, he might be able to get out of the Argentum household before Prompto even wakes up.

He finds his phone in the pocket of his track jacket, hung across the back of Prompto’s office chair, and the screen lights up with notifications the moment he presses his thumb to the home button. Several calls from his dad, and then one from Iris. His heart hammering, pacing the floor nervously, he taps the voicemail from Iris with terror, imagining the worst - a fire, a burglar, a _kidnapper_ -

“Gladiolus,” Clarus’s voice bites, his rage barely contained. “I thought that you would have enough concern for your sister that you would at least answer a call from her phone, but I should have known better considering you never came home to make sure of her safety last night. You’d better hope that I have cooled my temper before you set foot in this house. There will be major punishment coming, regardless.”

The message ends, and Gladio deletes all of the ones from his father’s number without listening to them. Odds are, by the time he got the idea to use Iris’s phone, he’d already cooled considerably, and the other messages are more aggressive.

“Hey,” Prompto smiles, blinking away sleep and sliding out of bed to walk toward Gladio. “You leaving?”

“Uh,” Gladio isn’t sure he wants to, quite yet. He imagines that his father will have a fresh wave of anger when he awakens to find that Gladio _still_ isn’t back. “Probably should get home. Unless you’ve got something else in mind.”

“I’d like to say something saucy, but honestly, after yesterday, I’m not sure I can get an erection just yet,” Prompto grins, reaching for him, ready with a kiss. “Maybe we could just lay in bed and make out, see what happens? I don’t want you to go yet.”

The sweet smile and suggestion of _real_ intimacy drags the memory of their last time from Gladio’s sleepy memory. The softness of it, the gentle climax they’d achieved together… their affectionate kissing… he’d almost thought it was a dream. But here Prompto was, offering that kind of passion again. And some part of Gladio desperately wants to drown in it. To accept it readily. To admit that what he wants, what makes him happy, is falling into this boy’s arms.

He imagines the weathered scowl on his father’s face, and he wrenches back out of Prompto’s reach.

“Don’t do that-” Gladio says, desperation in his tone, throwing a hand up to his lips as a blockade.

“Sorry, I just-”

“What did you think-” Gladio scoffs, the notion of how close he’d come to admitting he wanted to be _with_ the blond tearing fearfully through his mind like a wild rabbit being hunted.

What has he been doing? He’d somehow let one mistake, one takeover of hormones and frustrated attraction lead to… what?

Prompto clearly wants more from him than just his cock. He wants his time, his… heart? Probably wants to be _boyfriends_ as if Gladio can just parade around with the blond on his arm.

“Do you think I’m gonna like, date you? Like I’m just gonna be gay now?”

“No, what?” Prompto backs away, hands up in surrender. “I just wanted to-”

“I know what you wanted,” Gladio shouts, backing his way out of the room and toward the stairs, the front door. “You wanted to flip me to your side and show the whole school how you turned me, to make yourself look less like a loser-”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Prompto grimaces, following him. “What about any of this suggests I want to tell the whole school?”

“This is all just a ploy-”

“You’re an asshole-”

“Don’t fucking come near me,” Gladio warns, realizing that his jacket is across the room with his housekeys in the pocket.

“Yeah, my pleasure!” Prompto shouts, stooping to grab his own pants and draw them up his legs. “I don’t know what the fuck happened between early this morning and now, but you need to get a grip. I know you’re in the closet, but fuck, don’t be such a paranoid asshole about it-”

Gladio’s not sure what happens between Prompto’s barb and the next moment, but Gladio has the blond’s camera in his hand, the lens broken and glass littering the floor around Prompto, who is laying face down on the floor with a hand in his hair, a red stain in his blond locks.

Gladio blinks a moment, trying to parse the scene, but it’s not possible. He didn’t just smash Prompto’s head with his own camera. He’s a jerk, and he has a bad temper, but he’s not-

“Prompto,” Gladio hesitates, putting the camera down carefully on the desk, as if he might break it any worse than it already is. “Shit, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you, Big Guy,” Prompto huffs. “Fuck. Didn’t think you’d actually clock me. I just thought I could goad you into like, angry-fucking me against the door or something. You didn’t seem too into being gentle, so I thought you were picking a fight to do our usual.”

Gladio can’t even respond, not with the knowledge that he’s let himself _actually injure_ Prompto. Badly.

“Can you go downstairs and get the ice pack from the freezer?” Prompto asks. “I’d do it myself but I’m all wobbly.”

“Yeah,” Gladio wanders down the stairs feeling as though his soul is tethered to him by a thread, puppeteering him into the motions without his control. He finds the blue fabric pack on the door of the freezer and wraps it in a kitchen towel, returning to the bedroom to hand it numbly to the blond.

“Thanks,” Prompto says, as if Gladio had accidentally bumped him with an elbow to the side, rather than an expensive, _personally important_ device to his _skull_. “Hey, you okay?”

 _What the **fuck** is wrong with this guy?_ Gladio thinks, but thankfully keeps behind his teeth. _Asking if **I’m** okay? When I’ve-_

“I need to go home,” Gladio hears himself say, his voice dead. “My dad is royally pissed that I was out all night.”

“Oh, shit,” Prompto blinks, pushing his bangs out of his face as he holds the towel-wrapped pack to his head. “Yeah, you better get back. I’ll message you later.”

“Okay,” Gladio says, pulling his jacket off the chair and taking one last dazed glance at the camera. There’s blood on the bottom corner of it. He slides his eyes away, pulling the garment over his shoulders and checking that the keys are in the pocket. He steps over the glass as he makes his way to the door, and with one last look at Prompto, crumpled against the side of his bed, holding his own brain inside his head as he waves sheepishly, nods and makes his way out of the house and back to his home across town.

Gladio’s father’s study is directly to the right of the foyer, and the moment he steps into the threshold, the man is up and out of his chair to confront him.

“Where in the hell were you?” Clarus demands, the carefully controlled anger radiating off of him. Gladio dimly wonders if this is what he looked like to Prompto, and feels a fresh wave of shame crash over him. He knows that his rage had not been as placid as his father’s is now.

“At a friend’s house, sir,” Gladio answers, remembering to show deference. He’s a bit thankful that it’s become enough of a habit that it happens automatically. Otherwise, this already tense conversation could have started off on a _really_ bad foot.

“And you didn’t think to tell anyone that you wouldn’t be returning for the night?” Clarus raises a brow at him. “Iris was beside herself when you didn’t come home. She was worried something had happened to you. I knew better.”

“Dad, I-”

“Hand over your phone,” Clarus holds out his palm, waiting to take the device. “You can have this back when I have a chance to come up with a more fitting punishment. I’ve already taken track and wrestling away from you. I can’t take swimming because you need to have some sort of athletic outlet, or you’ll just become even more unruly.”

“Yes, sir,” Gladio stifles a sigh, pulling the phone from his pocket. He hopes that his father won’t think to take away his computer, or he won’t be able to get messages from Prompto about his condition, and the fear is gnawing away at Gladio’s gut.

“You’re to remain in your room until dinner,” Clarus informs him. “Jared will bring something to you for lunch.”

Gladio nods, and turns on his heel to make his way to his bedroom. He’s glad to see that his father hasn’t ransacked his belongings, because his laptop sits neatly on the surface of his nightstand. With a relieved sigh, he falls onto the surface of his bed, burying his face in his blankets, breathing in their familiar smell, and falls into a fitful sleep until Jared knocks on his door, presenting him with a tray.

Glancing at the clock, he finds that he’s been asleep for about two hours, and wonders if he should message Prompto to see if he’s alright.

Opening the computer, he navigates to his social media tab and finds the chat window blinking. With a bit of mounting dread, he clicks the arrow to display the conversations, and finds that there is a message from Aranea. He bypasses his ex and clicks Prompto’s name, bringing up the messages between them. Suddenly, it also begins to blink, as the blond delivers another entry.

 **Prompto:** hey big guy, sorry that i pushed you this morning. i shouldn’t have taunted you about being in the closet, it was a total asshole move. i really was just hoping for another round of rough pounding, ‘cause when you’re mad you got some great dick game  
**Gladio:** Are you alright?  
**Prompto:** not gonna lie, i’m a lil woozy still but i’ll probably be fine. the bleeding stopped, you did more of a number on my camera than on my head lol  
**Gladio:** I really wish you wouldn’t joke about it.  
**Prompto:** sorry, just trying to make you feel better  
**Gladio:** I’m not going to feel better, I fucked up so bad

Before he can finish the sentence and send it, the door of his room flings open, slamming against the wall and startling the tray of food off his bed and onto the floor as his father charges in and grabs the laptop out from under his hands.

“This is what you were doing last night?” Clarus asks. “At your ‘friend’s’ place? Having sex with a _boy_ and then _beating him_?”

Gladio is horrified, realizing far too late that the message notifications have been popping up on his phone, too.

“Dad-” Gladio tries, but he has no follow up, so he’s almost happy that his father interrupts him to shut him down once more.

“There is no explanation you could give to get you out of this, Gladiolus,” Clarus seethes, his control on his anger fraying. “Will this boy bring charges against you?”

“I don’t think so,” Gladio answers, knowing that Prompto probably should. He definitely should not feel so blithe about the situation.

“Good,” Clarus folds his arms across his chest. “Luckily, your uncle, Cor, was able to secure you a place in the Lucis-Niflheim Combat Academy. You’ll be shipping out tomorrow morning with a few new recruits from the city that are departing early for the next semester. No need to pack anything. You’ll be provided with several uniforms when you arrive in Gralea, and that is all you will require during your stay.”

“What?” Gladio blinks, his eyes wide with shock. “Dad, you're sending me away?”

“I honestly believed that this would simply afford you a little control over yourself, but perhaps some good military discipline will also beat the degenerate urges out of you,” Clarus hisses, and it’s a venomous barb that sticks in Gladio’s ribs, stealing all his air. “See to it you don’t upset your sister at dinner. I will inform her of your departure now, to allow her some time to get used to the idea.”

“Dad, please,” Gladio begs, actually genuinely pleads. “Can I please have my computer, just to make sure Prompto is alright?”

“I will send paramedics to his home to ensure that he receives care,” Clarus says, coldly, as he turns away from his son. “You need not contact the boy any further. I’m sure his influence will only worsen your perversion.”

With a soft click of the door shutting, Gladio feels the room suffocating him, dark and airless like a tomb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, Clarus. You get to be the homophobic controlling dad that pushed Gladio into being a bully! 
> 
> I know fuck-all about Clarus because I watched Kingsglaive exactly once so he gets to be the villain of this AU. Aren’t we generous?


	15. Prompto & Gladio: Lost the Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto waits. Gladio surrenders.

Prompto blinks down at his phone, the indicator still showing that Gladio is typing, but it’s been many minutes now since Prompto’s last response. He really wishes his eyes would cooperate, because the sort of double-vision he’s got going on is fairly distracting and isn’t any help with the low, clawing headache. He had taken some pain killers after the bleeding had stopped, once he felt sturdy enough to stand and shuffle to the bathroom. But they still haven’t numbed the insistent throb of his head.

He supposes the lack of response from Gladio could be from one of two things: either what Prompto said really pissed him off and he’s spending an inordinately long time coming up with a furious response, or maybe he is in trouble with his father and doesn’t have time to continue their conversation.

Prompto has seen Clarus Amicitia before, at their track meets, and the man is intimidating like a terrible blizzard - cold and overwhelming. He can only imagine that when Gladio steps out of line, he’s summarily punished with extreme prejudice.

A rough knock at the door startles him away from his phone, and he makes his way carefully down the stairs and to the door, wondering who could _possibly_ be behind it.

It almost doesn’t make sense when the EMT asks who is injured. Until he remembers that it’s him. But that thought spikes panic. Did Gladio send them? If Prompto is hospitalized, who is going to pay the bill? Will Gladio get in even more trouble if Prompto slips up and says his friend bashed him in the head?

“Um, I mean, I did hit my head a bit, but it’s fine,” Prompto says, putting a careful hand over the goose-egg on his skull. It’s still tender and raised, but the bleeding stopped just ten minutes after Gladio had left for home, so he’s fine now. “I think my friend might have called you? He seemed worried when I hit it on the cupboard door. I’m really fine.”

“Are you a minor?” The woman asks him. She seems nice, kind. He hates to lie to people, but he isn’t going to be tossed into an ambulance and sent to a hospital for a little headache. Especially when he will then have to phone his mother and explain the bill to her and why he is there, and it is much, much harder to lie to her. She always seems to know when he tries.

“No, ma’am, I’m eighteen,” He says, and in six months, that will be true. So it’s just a little fib. “I’m seriously fine, I promise. I just stood up while the door was open and caught the corner. My friend can be a little dramatic.” Understatement.

“I’ll need you to sign this, then,” She says, and hands him a clipboard with a few papers on it. She points him to the consent form, the statement that he is alert and of sound mind to refuse their care. He scribbles his name, blinking a little to focus his thoughts and his hand.

“Thank you,” Prompto says, waving her and her partner off. “I’m very sorry about this. I’ll make sure my friend doesn’t do it again.”

The pair nod and make their way back into the vehicle.

He hopes that none of the neighbors will comment on this to his parents when they get home. Hopefully by then it’ll be news old enough for them to have forgotten about it. He returns to his room to frown over his phone for a little longer, not really able to focus on any one thing long enough to distract himself from the worry over Gladio. He messages him a few more times but there still is no response on the big guy’s end.

Prompto is glad when the sun finally sets, the low light coming in from behind the blinds irritating his already troubled eyes, and he supposes he should make his way downstairs to fix something for himself for dinner, but his stomach isn’t exactly feeling great and he doesn’t really have the energy to get out of bed.

When midnight finally rolls around, he tries to put down his phone and go to sleep for school the next day, but even with his eyes closed, it eludes him.

Really, he’s just anxious about Gladio. If the big guy’s gotten into trouble because he stayed overnight, it’s sort of Prompto’s fault, isn’t it? He should apologize. But he doesn’t have Gladio’s number, and he has no idea where the guy lives. Even if he did, he probably wouldn’t be a welcome guest in Gladio’s eyes. Which is a shame.

It had been really nice, that last time. Soft and slow, instead of fast and angry. Not that Prompto wants that _all_ the time. He much prefers the rough, violent rush that they have together. But the sleepy, comfortable sex had been good in its own way. Intimate. It makes Prompto’s chest tight to remember the feeling of Gladio’s arms around him and his gentle kiss as he slid inside. There’s a rush of _something_ through his stomach and up into his beating heart, and it’s far, _far_ too fond. He sighs. It’s an entirely inappropriate emotion, and far too sudden. But it’s there, burning in the pit of him, a low ember threatening a full flame.

A wave of dizziness washes over him, even though he’s laying still against his pillows. He blinks, hard, a few times. Closes his eyes tight, and rides out the flip of his stomach.

Maybe Gladio had hit him harder than he thought.

He wishes he could go back and undo it, saying what he said. It was unfair to goad him about being closeted. Not everyone can be comfortable coming out. Not everyone is able to handle being harassed and othered. Not someone like Gladio, who has lived with acceptance from birth. He’d get dumped into Prompto’s lonely world, if he is unlucky, and his friends are shallow.

Which Prompto knows is probably true, given the company Gladio generally keeps.

He selfishly wishes that he alone was enough for Gladio, that he wouldn’t need anyone else.

He swallows down a wave of nausea and closes his eyes, hoping that with a little rest, he’ll feel fine again in the morning. Finally, fitfully, sleep claims him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner is quiet, stiff. Even Iris isn’t talking, just silently sobbing into her mashed potatoes as they dine together one last time before Gladio is shipped off to Gralea.

He burns with rage, indignation. But he won’t fight with his father- with Clarus, not in front of Iris, especially with how upset she already is. He chews his food angrily, downing the contents of his plate in record time, even for him. He doesn’t want to be here, at this table with his father coldly glowering at him and his sister sadly mourning his departure.

“May I be excused?” Gladio asks, but it’s got venom behind it.

“You may not,” Clarus answers, resuming his meal without explanation.

“Gladio, you said you were gonna go to Insomnia University,” Iris says, her voice wet with tears. “You said we’d see each other every weekend.”

“Gladio has an opportunity, Iris,” Clarus responds, not allowing Gladio to protest that it isn’t his decision. “He’s going to take it and become a better man. And then he’ll come home.”

Iris bites back a reply, her own teenage temper flaring a bit hot these days, and stabs her fork into the meat on her plate without another word.

“I need to use the restroom,” Gladio says, desperate to get away from the horrible tension settling over their dining table.

“Then you’ll wait until I am finished,” Clarus answers, without looking at him.

“What if I piss myself?” Gladio says, finally breaking, playing along with his stupid game. If he’s going to treat Gladio like an unruly child, he’ll play the part.

“Gladio!” Iris groans, her face cringing.

“Perhaps I should send you to Cor this evening,” Clarus says, full of cold fury. “Rather than have him pick you up at four in the morning. Since you’re so desperate to remove yourself from this family.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Gladio responds, and Iris cries harder. “Iris, I don’t mean-”

“Go to your room,” Clarus interjects. “Ready yourself and I will have Jared bring you to the foyer when Cor arrives. And you will apologize to him for inconveniencing him.”

“Will I?” Gladio snorts. “Only if you’re gonna-”

“Dismissed,” Clarus says, and returns his attention to his meal.

“Great,” Gladio growls, pushing himself out of his chair so hard that the tall-backed antique thing falls backwards to the ground with an enormous clatter. He storms his way up the stairs, Jared following a careful distance behind.

When he arrives in his room, he slams the door shut, and his eyes land on a baseball on his nightstand. He picks the thing up and throws it, hard as he can, into the mirror above his dresser, shattering the glass and littering the shards everywhere.

The scene throws him back to this morning, in Prompto’s room, and he crumples to the floor, crying. It’s the first time in years that he’s cried. Maybe not since he was six, and he’d broken his finger after falling out of a tree. He remembers his dad telling him to stop, to ‘be a man’.

The advice burns in his gut, and he rebelliously allows himself to soak the sleeves of his shirt with his tears as he pushes his knees and elbows into the carpet.

It’s a hard realization, but this is the moment to have it. Clarus doesn’t love _Gladio_ , he loves an expectation, an image he’d crafted before Gladio had even been born. All his life, Clarus’s praise has been empty, meaningless. An acknowledgement of a fulfilled duty, not a moment of pride in his son. 

The affection, the caring, the simple act of seeing Gladio as who he is, even the really fucking bad parts of him... he has one person in the entirety of Eos for that.

He eventually loses the energy and the tears, and lays down, boneless, aching. Remembering the darkness of the night before, of Prompto all around him, his body, his scent, his smile. The lazy, gentle coupling. Soft, long kisses.

He’d ruined it. Hurt him. Let his anger at himself boil over and break the one person that might like him for exactly who he is. Even if who he is is a massive asshole.

Now, he won’t even be able to tell Prompto that he’s sorry. Might not ever see him again.

Might have been living his entire life for a man that is ready to dump him out of his life at the first sign of disobedience.

Jared’s timid knock at the door forces Gladio up off the floor, wiping his eyes and nose on his shirtsleeves.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” Gladio calls, and slips out of his shirt, wiping his face one last time on it. Steps over more shards of glass as he looks through his closet for another. Pulls it over his head and stares at himself in the fractured glass still clinging to the ornate frame. He looks like hell. Like he’s half-dead.

It’s appropriate. It’s how he feels.

Jared startles when Gladio opens the door and he peers inside at the destruction.

“Sorry, Jared,” Gladio mutters.

“It’s quite alright, Master Gladio,” The old man responds. “I will take care of it.”

Gladio nods, and forces his way down the stairs, his father and Cor speaking quietly. Cor’s attention turns to him, and the slight draw of his eyebrows betrays his usually placid face.

After having seen his reflection, Gladio’s sure the nearly imperceptible flash of emotion from Cor has something to do with Gladio’s red, puffy eyes and blotchy complexion. He doesn’t really care if either Cor Leonis or his father know that he was bawling his eyes out in his room.

What does it matter? He’s not going to come back to this house ever again, unless Iris decides that she wants to see him after all of this. Gladio notices that she’s not here to say goodbye.

“Gladio,” Cor acknowledges him. “You might want to bring a coat, it will be extremely cold once you’re over the ocean. The planes are warmed, of course, but once you get off in Gralea, well, it’s nearly always winter there.”

“I will return with your jacket, Master Gladio,” Jared says, and makes his way to storage to retrieve it. It will be months until they’ll need such a thing here in Insomnia.

“My associate’s nephew will be joining up at the same time as you,” Cor offers, perhaps as a bit of comfort. Though why Gladio would derive joy from being shipped off with a guy he’s never met before, just because there’s a slight connection, doesn’t exactly make sense to him. Still, he nods in acknowledgement.

“I’ll wait in the car,” Cor says, bowing slightly to Clarus.

“That won’t be necessary,” Clarus shakes his head. “Jared is already returning.”

“Thank you, Jared,” Gladio says, taking the coat and folding it over his forearm.

“You are welcome, Master Gladio,” Jared bows.

“Guess I’m ready,” Gladio says, glancing back at Iris’s bedroom door.

“Alright,” Cor replies, and nods to Gladio’s father. “Clarus.”

“Cor,” He nods back. “Thank you, again.”

“Of course,” Cor says, and hesitates a moment, seemingly waiting for the two Amicitia men to offer departing words.

Gladio’s got exactly zero to say. Clarus seems content to let him leave without a backward glance.

So Gladio follows Cor down the steps of his childhood home and into the older man’s car without deigning to give his father the satisfaction of a heated goodbye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gladio isn’t at school the next day, or the next. And that’s when Prompto starts to worry. A lot.

It probably doesn’t help that he hasn’t been able to sleep very much, and that his stomach is constantly in a state of discomfort inside him. But he chalks that up to anxiety more than anything, since he’s perfectly awake and cognizant.

Although, it’s really hard for him to concentrate in class. Like, more than usual. And not just because he’s distracted by thoughts of Gladio. It’s like he loses track of how many minutes have gone by, and by the time he’s aware, he’s missed a whole bunch of important information.

Prompto considers asking Loqi at lunch if he’s seen or heard from Gladio, but luckily realizes with his fuzzy brain that it would be a really bad idea. Far too suspicious for him to ask after someone he supposedly has no relationship with outside of sharing a sports team. He resigns himself to standing in the lunch line and keeping his mouth shut about the big guy instead, just until he can get his bearings again.

“Hey Kid,” Aranea’s voice startles him. “Whoa, you alright?”

“Hmfine,” Prompto says as he reaches for a tray and fumbles with it.

“You really don’t look fine,” Aranea insists, and pulls him out of the line. “What’s going on, Prom?” She pats him on the top of his head, affectionately, and startles when he hisses in pain.

“Shit,” He swears, earning him a censure from the lunch monitor.

Aranea glowers down at him with her lips pulled into a tight line. “What did he do to you this time?”

“Nothing, I haven’t even seen him since Sunday,” Prompto lies, trying to shrug her off.

“What were you two doing together on a Sunday?”

“We hung out after the track meet,” Prompto shrugs, hanging onto the wall. The room is doing that annoying spin-thing again.

“That was Saturday,” Aranea says. “I know, because I remember you babbling about it on Friday. Did you guys spend the night together?”

“Shit-” Prompto says, under his breath. “No, I- I meant Saturday.”

“No, you didn’t,” Aranea accuses him. “Prompto, come on. I know you guys are into each other. It’s fine. I won’t say anything. But you look really rough, and you’re slurring your words.”

“No, ‘mnot,” Prompto tries.

“I’m dragging your ass to the nurse, if I have to carry you,” Aranea insists, pulling his arm. “Come on.”

After a cursory examination, the nurse informs him that he’s concussed. He’s to go home and rest, and he needs to be monitored. Which really sucks, because no one is _at_ home. But he doesn’t tell her that.

Aranea agrees to come and check on him for a few days. She escorts him home with a little sweet-talk to the nurse and they’re halfway there in her little hatchback when Prompto bolts up in his seat.

“Gladio!” Prompto shouts, as if he’s just remembered the guy exists. And it’s sort of true, considering the stress of the past twenty minutes.

“Where?” Aranea says, slowing the car and glancing around.

“No, no-” Prompto squeezes his eyes shut against a wave of dizziness. “I just- have _you_ heard from him?”

“Not really since I warned him not to hurt you,” Aranea shrugs. “Which, by the way, I have some burying to do, now.”

“It was a simple mistake,” Prompto says, waving her off. “Please don’t kill Gladio. I love the guy.”

Prompto’s brain finally catches up with his words and he quakes, trying to open his mouth to explain away what he’s just said, but Aranea doesn’t seem shocked at all.

“Gods, why is it that I constantly fall in with morons?” She mutters. “I know with Gladio and you involved, it can’t possibly be simple. He hurt you, right? He’s the one that gave you a _concussion_?”

“Well, yeah-”

“So it’s a done deal,” She says, pushing on the gas with a little more intensity than necessary for the residential street they’re on. “He’s going in the ground. I warned him.”

“Nea,” Prompto laughs. “Don’t. He’s just… mixed-up. I mean look at him. He’s the quintessential Dude. I’m sure it’s really fucking him up to be screwing around with a scrawny gay guy all of a sudden.”

“So you guys _are_ fucking around,” Aranea says, glancing over at him.

Prompto sits up straight, his heart instantly hammering. “It was after you guys-”

“Relax,” She smiles and shakes her head. “I’m not mad. I like you. You’re probably the only person that could worm his way into that dense skull of Gladio’s and make him see reason. Somehow. Considering how very stupid you are.”

“Yeah, that’s for sure,” Prompto nods, laying his head against the cool window. “I really said something uncool, on Sunday. I’m worried about him. He hasn’t been to school in a couple days.”

“I’ll try to find out for you,” Aranea says. “I can probably talk to Iris at school tomorrow and get you some info when I come check on you after.”

“That’d be great,” Prompto says.

“So you love him, huh?” Aranea comments. “Kinda fast, considering he and I only broke up like two weeks ago.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Prompto blushes, wishing he could hide inside his own tee shirt. “I’m all brain damaged. Please don’t tell him or anyone-”

“I’m teasing, Prompto,” She laughs. “It’s pretty cute, though. Good luck with that.”

Prompto snorts a laugh, and then cringes as it twinges in his head. “Yeah. Right?”

Prompto is bullied onto the sofa in the living room while Aranea gets things from his room so that he doesn’t have to go up and down the stairs. Unless he needs to shower, which she’s warned him away from doing unless she’s there to pick him up off the floor, should he pass out in there.

Once he’s safely resting on the couch, she deems him fit to be left to sleep and takes her leave.

It’s more quiet than usual in his house, somehow, but whenever he’s been sick in the past, it’s felt more like isolation than simply being left to his own devices. He appreciates Aranea’s concern, but what he wants is some kind of warmth. The likes of which he’s only experienced with Gladio Amicitia, of all people.

“I still haven’t seen Iris,” Aranea tells him on Friday. “I think she’s been skipping classes, which isn’t really like her to do. But apparently she told a friend in class that Gladio’s been gone since Sunday night and he’s not coming back.”

“That’s ominous,” Prompto says, setting his water glass down on the coffee table. His head is less foggy today, and he no longer has trouble with speaking. It seems like laying around and doing nothing is truly doing wonders for his head injury, if not his hygiene.

“Loqi says he heard that Gladio sent a kid to the hospital, and he’s in jail,” Aranea rolls her eyes. “So if we can put two and two together, possibly he got into trouble with his father for harming you?”

“That makes sense,” Prompto nods, just now remembering the visit from the paramedics. “Some EMTs showed up a few hours after Gladio left my house that day. I just assumed that Gladio sent them, but if it was him, why would he wait so long to call them? And he’d already talked to me a bit on messenger before that, so he knew that I was alright enough.”

“Clarus might have been covering Gladio’s ass and sent them himself, if he found out you’d been hurt. He’s concerned for the family name at all times.”

“Shit,” Prompto scrubs a hand through his dirty hair, barking out a cry when he accidentally brushes over the still-tender spot on his head. “That still doesn’t explain where Gladio _is_.”

“I’ll call Iris,” Aranea says. “If I can’t catch her to talk in private, I’m just gonna have to corner her.”

She navigates to the contact and holds the phone to her ear, waiting for a response.

“Iris,” She says, informally but not friendly. “Where’s your lug of a brother? I’ve got words for him and he hasn’t been around for days-”

Prompto is surprised that she takes the interruption so well. He watches her, hoping for the slightest hint of a face journey that might help him know what to anticipate, but she’s as still as stone, like always. Aside from her raised eyebrow.

“I see,” she says, finally. “Well, I guess that puts a nail into that coffin. It’s fine, I was just gonna give him back his hoodie and tell him to quit messaging me. Feel better, alright kiddo?”

With finality, she hangs up, staring at him. Prompto raises a questioning eyebrow and leans his head forward.

“Well?” He finally asks, spreading his hands in a gesture of anticipation.

“He’s gone off to Gralea. The Lucis-Niflheim Combat Academy,” She answers, seeming to chew on it. “Iris said it was very sudden, and that Gladio and his father had a big fight at dinner Sunday night before their uncle came to get him.”

“Wait, what?” Prompto pushes himself up off pillows with a slight head rush. “He’s gone to the fucking Imperial Continent?”

“Seems so,” Aranea says, still as cool as freshly fallen snow. “Must be Daddy Amicitia sent him away. You said you guys were messaging before the paramedics came?”

“Yeah,” Prompto answers. He can’t believe that Gladio is just… gone. Like, totally _gone_. Out of the country. Off the landmass.

“What’d you two talk about?” Aranea asks. “I don’t need details, mind you.”

“Uh,” Prompto’s recall is still a bit groggy. “Lemme see.” He pulls up the messaging app and scrolls up a little bit to remind himself of what was said. Cringes down at the phone when he reads his first message. “It was about… something I wanted to do with Gladio, and apologizing for saying something that made him clock me.”

“If Clarus saw that message, you can bet your ass that’s why Gladio’s in Gralea now. He’s not going to let his only son be in a violent and homosexual relationship. He’s sent him there to get ‘fixed’.”

“I’ve literally ruined his life,” Prompto says, tears gathering in his eyes, stubbornly refusing to spill over. 

“I’d say Gladio had a rather large hand in that,” Aranea folds her arms over her chest. “He’s not going to be there for long, though.”

“How do you know that?”

“Age of majority in Niflheim is nineteen,” Aranea explains. “Once he ages out, he can make whatever decisions he wants. He’ll be back next April, I guarantee it.”

“That’s a long time,” Prompto looks down at the floor, wiping his eyes.

“Yep,” She nods. “So you’d better start making plans that don’t involve him. Get someone who won’t give you a concussion.”

“I wasn’t even looking for someone at all, really,” Prompto says, laying back against the pillows. “It just sort of happened.”

“Then you’re not losing out, right?”

Prompto really likes Aranea, but she can be a little cold at times, and he’s not sure it’s much of a balm on the ache in his heart.

“Sure,” He says, to appease her, and pulls a blanket over himself. “I’m like, really tired now. Too much excitement, I think.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” She nods, picking up his water glass. “I’ll fill this up and leave for the night. Try to get good rest, dumbass.”

“Will do, Big Sis,” Prompto smiles around the tightness in his throat. He waits for her to leave before letting loose the tears, and after a while, falls into a blissful stillness in sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how’s everybody feeling? Good? All warm and fuzzy?
> 
> I intended to be able to release the next fic right away, but life got in the way of that so there will be a short break before the next one. Feel free to speculate on its contents. XD

**Author's Note:**

> I've been teasing this fic over on my twitter (@fictionalthirst) for a while now, and it's a bit of a relief to finally get started with posting. It's completely finished, but I'm gonna go ahead and take a cue from Gladio and be a sadistic jerk and only post one per day. >:)


End file.
